You're Not Alone
by SpikeLover7
Summary: Sequel to “The New Big Brother.” Sam and Dean take a trip down memory lane when they head to Chelsea, Kansas to bury their father. But things are never easy. Dean is haunted by nightmares, and our boys find that their easiest job yet is also their hardest
1. Dean's Mask

**Title:** You're Not Alone

**Author:** JALover7

**Rating:** PG13

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sam, Dean, John, the Impala, or anything related to Supernatural (if I did, I'd have them locked up in my closet, or in Dean's case, my bedroom). Supernatural is owned by Eric Kripke, etc. I'm merely borrowing the characters for my own fan fictional devices.

**Spoilers:** All Season 1 up to "Devil's Trap."

**Summary:** Sequel to "The New Big Brother." Sam and Dean take a trip down memory lane when they head to Chelsea, Kansas to bury their father. But of course, things are never easy. Dean is haunted by nightmares, and our boys find that their easiest job yet is also their hardest. Angst!Dean and BigBrother!Sam return. Multiple chapter, work in progress.

**AN: **For those who haven't read "The New Big Brother" yet, I highly recommend reading it, as this is the sequel to that and this will make better sense if you read TNBB first. To those who _have_ read TNBB, I recommend rereading chapter 3 and the epilogue as a quick catch up, because they are a lead in to this sequel.

Secondly, I want everyone to know that I'm making no promises as to how quickly these chapters will come out, and I'm sorry about that. They'll probably come out pretty sporadically, and not as quickly as they have in my other stories. I'm in my junior year of college, and that has to come first. God only knows why I'm deciding to make myself write any more than I have to right now. Maybe it's because I haven't gotten any real paper assignments yet, and I'm feeling a need to write something. Which is pretty shocking actually. I think I may actually be beginning to almost like this writing thing. Which is a good thing, given I'm majoring in English, lol. So anyway, I decided I wanted to start putting this out, because the ideas have been growing in my head recently where they were kind of lacking before, and suddenly they are really itching to just get out on paper. And when ideas are begging to be let free, sometimes you just gotta go with it. : )

To that end, I hope you all enjoy this, and please don't forget to review on your way out. Thanks: )

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**You're Not Alone**

– – **Prologue – –**

**Dean's Mask**

Dean Winchester flexed his muscles hard, fighting against the invisible force pinning him to the cold, wooden wall of the darkened cabin. They had finally found it. After 23 years, they had finally found the son of a bitch that had killed their mother, destroyed their family, and changed their lives forever. And now, after 23 years of searching, Dean should've had his hands around the bastard's neck, slowly choking the life out of it. He should've had a gun in his hand, firing bullets one after another into it, tearing it to shreds. He should've had a machete in his hand, chopping it up into little pieces…torturing it…making it suffer for killing the people he and his family loved.

Instead, he was pinned to a wall, angry and helpless. And even if he could have gotten free, he was powerless against it. The demon was in his father's body, possessing him, forcing him to hold his own sons captive while it messed with their minds; taunted them…threatened them.

As Dean fruitlessly struggled against the wall, he watched his father approach Sam, grinning evilly as the demon inside him told Sam why he had killed their mother and Jess.

Dean was _not_ happy with how close the son of a bitch was to his little brother. He had to distract it, had to get it away from him before it did something – before it used their father to hurt Sam.

Angrily, Dean spoke to the demon, hoping to lure it away by insulting it.

"Listen, you mind just getting this over with, huh, 'cause I really can't stand the monologuing," he said, shaking his head in annoyance for effect.

Dean was not surprised when his father turned on him instead, and Dean's heart lifted a bit as the demon started walking toward him, leaving Sam alone. Dean smirked in satisfaction as his father approached.

"Funny, but that's all part of your MO, isn't it? Mask all that nasty pain. Mask the truth."

Dean played along; the longer it talked to him, the longer it stayed away from Sam.

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"You know you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is…they don't _need you_."

Dean's face twitched slightly, his heart clenching at the words.

"_Not_ like you need _them_."

Dean tried hard not to let it show how much the remark affected him. He tried to remind himself that this was what demons were good at – figuring out a person's deepest, darkest fear and exploiting it to their advantage. But as the demon taunted him, as it addressed his worst fear, Dean couldn't help the pain he felt. His heart clenched at the thought that his father and his little brother didn't need him in their lives. It was something he had wondered about millions of times. They were his life, his whole reason for living. But John had his revenge to live for. And Sam? Sam had a _normal life_. He had _friends_. How could Dean compete with that?

And they had both left him. His father had left him to chase the demon alone. Sam had left for college and he hadn't looked back. He'd even told him that he would leave as soon as the demon was dead. How much could his brother really need him? As much as Dean tried to tell himself the demon was just manipulating his fears, Dean couldn't help feeling that it was telling him the truth.

Though Dean's head was reeling with these thoughts, he succeeded in keeping his emotions hidden.

"Sam? He's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's _ever_ shown you."

Dean ignored the pain he felt at the demon's words. He'd be _damned _if he let this son of a bitch know how much it was affecting him. Smirk firmly in place, Dean did what he always did to hide his feelings; he turned on the snark.

The corner of his mouth twitched up and he gave the demon the most evil look he could.

"Yeah, I'll bet you're real proud of your kids, too, huh? Oh wait, I forgot. I wasted 'em." His mouth twitched again when he saw his retort hit home hard.

His father backed up, a mixture of sadness and rage on his face. Dean continued to smile, proud that he had struck a nerve. He watched his father stop, gaze dropping to the ground. He wondered what the demon was going to do next.

Suddenly, without warning, Dean felt his body tear apart from the inside. He cried out in pain as he felt a hand grab his heart and pull hard, scratching at it, trying to yank his heart out through his chest. He vaguely heard Sam call his name. But he couldn't focus on anything but the pain. It hurt more than anything he had ever felt before. But what hurt more than anything was the look on his father's face – a look of hatred, malice, and satisfaction.

Dean moaned as the hand grasped him harder, and he gasped, breathing heavily, as a deep gash opened on his chest, pouring thick blood down his body. He began to hyperventilate, the pain in his body unbearable. It was too much. He felt like his whole world was being torn apart. He felt the demon tear into his chest again. Dean fought through the pain and tried to get through to his father.

"Dad," he gasped, panting heavily. "Dad, don't you let it kill me," he ordered, voice quivering.

His father didn't respond. Instead, the demon grabbed on tighter, pulling on his heart, shredding his chest to ribbons in its attempt to destroy him. Dean groaned loudly, and he thought he heard Sam yell, "Dean! No!"

Suddenly, Dean heard a voice in his head. _"Sam and I don't need you. Your brother left you; left you alone to take care of me while he ran off to live the normal life. He didn't care what you thought, what you wanted. You asked him not to leave, you begged him. But he didn't care. He just left. He didn't really need you, and he never will."_

Dean gasped in pain, trying to tune out the taunting in his head. His father couldn't be saying this. He just couldn't. It was the demon…it had to be the demon…

"_What could you possibly give this family? You're useless. Pathetic. A waste of space. We don't need you now and we never will."_

Dean cried out, watching as the blood continued to pour out of his chest.

"_I could never love you."_

Faint whimpers escaped from Dean's pain stricken body. He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't stand it; it was all too much. He was going to die, there was nothing he could do to stop it…And nobody would miss him.

Slowly, Dean lifted his head, blood pouring out of his mouth. Using the little remaining strength and will he had left, he begged his father to save him, to make the pain stop…to make everything stop. "Dad, please," he whispered, voice breaking.

The demon squeezed his heart again, and Dean thrust his head back when he felt blood gurgling out of his throat. Then his head tipped forward, and he never heard Sam scream for him, never heard his father beg the demon to leave his son alone. All he saw and felt was darkness, a never-ending darkness swallowing him whole. He was drowning in darkness and pain, his father's voice echoing in his head.

"I could never love you…never love you…never love you…" 

Dean gave in and let the darkness take him.

"Dean…"

"Never love you…" 

"Dean."

"_Never love you."_

"Dean!"

"_Never."_

"Dean! Wake up! Dean!"

Dean groaned as the darkness pulled him deeper.

"Dean! Wake up, man. It's just a dream, it's okay. Dean!"

Suddenly, Dean felt a strong hand on his shoulder and he jerked awake, shooting upright, gasping in pain as his chest protested the sudden movement. He was breathing heavily, clutching his chest and trying to stave off the tears he felt in his eyes as he looked around him, trying to remember where he was. His eyes took in the unfamiliar sight of the giant vehicle he was sitting in, parked in a town he didn't recognize. As he continued to pant, he slowly remembered what had happened. They had just left the hospital that day. He had fallen asleep…

Dean sighed heavily and lay back down. He pressed his hands into his eyes, trying hard to banish the images that were burned into his mind. Trying to rid himself of the darkness, the anger…the pain.

Finally, his breathing slowed down to normal. He could feel a gentle ache in his chest, and he wasn't entirely sure it was from sitting up fast. He opened his eyes and realized that Sam's hand was still on his shoulder, gripping tightly. Dean focused on his brother and the worried expression on his face. He attempted to shake off the feelings the dream had left him with so that he could focus on wiping that look off of his brother's face. When he couldn't get rid of them, he settled for pushing them aside.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked him.

Dean sighed. "Yeah, Sam. I'm fine," he replied, feeling anything but.

Sam wasn't convinced. "Are you sure? You were…you were making an awful lot of noise…"

Dean closed his eyes and groaned inwardly. What was it with Winchesters and not being able to sleep quietly?

"It's nothing, Sam. Just a nightmare," he said quietly. He shrugged his shoulder gently, the contact broken as Sam got the hint and let go.

"Yeah, I kind of got that, Dean, believe it or not," Sam said jokingly, a small smile on his face. Dean knew he was trying to cheer him up.

It wasn't working.

Dean turned his gaze away from Sam, not rising to the bait.

Dean saw Sam frown out of the corner of his eye, and he heard his brother sigh.

"Was it the same one?" Sam inquired gently.

"Yeah," Dean replied simply. He _had_ had this dream before. Since the accident, Dean had had this exact same dream many times. He'd been quiet about it at first, but it got more and more painful the more he dreamt it, and Dean loathed how easy it was for a person to lose control of their actions when they were asleep. Eventually, he had woken up from the dream to find Sam leaning over him, shaking his shoulders and urging him to wake up. He had admitted to having had the nightmare before, but he had never told Sam what had happened in it.

And he never planned to.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Sam asked him.

Dean knew the question was coming, and so he did what he had done many times before.

He pushed Sam away.

"No," he said quietly.

In the past, Sam had dropped the conversation then and there, not wanting to push his brother too far. But this time, instead of dropping it, Sam pushed back. "Dean…maybe it will help you to talk about it."

"Did it make _you_ feel any better when you told me about _your_ nightmares, Sam?" Dean asked, a bit harshly. He regretted the words the instant they left his mouth.

Sam moved away from Dean and sat back up in his seat, a hurt look on his face. But it was quickly replaced with one of anger.

"Forget it, Dean. I'm just trying to help," Sam bit out, leaning back in his seat and staring out his window.

Dean sighed. He didn't regret pushing Sam away. Sometimes it was better for Sam that he didn't know what was going on in Dean's head. It was complicated enough for Dean, and he didn't want to drag Sammy into his problems. Dean _did _regret what it did to Sam when he did. But this was just something he could never tell his brother about.

Dean reached down next to him and pulled the lever that would bring up the back of the seat. He sat up slowly and took stock of their surroundings.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"At a pharmacy," Sam answered, still looking out the window. "I was going to go in and pick up your meds until you-" Sam didn't finish his sentence, knowing what would happen if he tried to bring up the nightmare again.

Dean didn't reply or turn to Sam. He continued to stare out his window, lost in thoughts of the dream.

"_Never love you…I could never love you."_

"Dean!" Sam shouted.

Dean shook himself out of his reverie, angry with himself for letting his mind slip.

"What?" Dean asked, turning to face his brother.

"I asked if you wanted anything else besides the pills."

"Yeah, a six pack would be nice," Dean answered emotionlessly.

"Dean," Sam said warningly.

"Yeah, I know, Sam. No alcohol. Got it," Dean replied bitterly.

Sam sighed loudly, unbuckled his seat, took a fistful of prescriptions off the floor between them, and opened his door. "Whatever, Dean. I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't go anywhere."

"Yeah, right," Dean said under his breath.

Dean winced when Sam's door slammed closed and Sam stalked off toward the entrance to the pharmacy. Dean turned his gaze back toward his window, trying to ignore the stab of guilt he felt at pushing Sam away.

Really, things were better this way. He knew they were. Sam had enough on his plate; he didn't have to deal with Dean's stupid nightmares, too.

"_They don't need you. Not like you need them."_

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat as his thoughts inevitably drifted back toward the dream.

Only it wasn't just a dream; wasn't just a nightmare. It wasn't just something that plagued him in his sleep.

It was something that had really happened.

That night in the cabin, his father had really whispered those angry, harsh words in his head. And Dean hadn't been able to forget them. Not when he was being constantly reminded of them in his dreams. His nightmares.

He felt himself being dragged back into the images of his nightmare – his reality – and he didn't fight it.

Twenty minutes later, Dean was pulled out of the remnants of his nightmare by the sound of Sam's door opening. He turned to see Sam climb into the car and place a large plastic bag down between their seats. He closed the door, quietly this time, and gazed down at his lap, fiddling with the keys. Dean watched him in silence, waiting for Sam to say something, anything, to break the awkward silence between them.

Finally, Sam sighed and looked up at him. "I'm sorry, Dean. I don't want to push you. I just…I just want to help you. I know how real dreams can be sometimes, and I just…I just want to help you," he finished lamely.

Dean felt another stab of guilt. Why on earth was Sam apologizing to _him_?

"Sam, it's fine. You don't have anything to apologize for. It's just…." Dean paused, wondering how to put what he wanted to say as gently as possible. "The best way for you to help me is to just…let it go…don't ask me about it. Okay?" Dean asked gently.

He knew it wasn't good enough for Sam. He knew that Sam still wanted him to share. But Sam had to know that Dean was not the sharing kind. He hoped that his brother would understand.

Dean was satisfied when Sam finally looked back up at him and smiled lightly. "Yeah. Okay."

It was good enough for him. "Good," Dean replied.

They sat in silence for a moment, until Sam asked, "Are you hungry? Do you wanna find something to eat? We passed a diner on the way here."

Dean looked at the clock. He wasn't very hungry, but then he hadn't been hungry at all lately anyway. But it was one o'clock in the afternoon, and Dean knew Sam was probably hungry by now. Wanting to appease his brother's request, Dean answered, "Sure. Sounds good," without really meaning it.

Sam buckled up, put the keys in, started the car, and backed out of the space, heading out of the parking lot and back onto the main road. As Sam drove toward the diner, Dean caught a look on his face that he knew all too well; a look that said Sam didn't believe a word his brother was telling him.

Dean sighed slowly and looked back out his window. The mask that the demon had mentioned…it was real. Dean knew it was real. But it was something he needed. Dean cursed inwardly at how hard it was for him to hold onto it sometimes. He knew Sam could sense that something was bothering him.

But how could he admit to Sam how much everything was bothering him when he didn't even want to admit it to himself?

_**TBC...**_


	2. Never to Return

**AN:** Sequel to "The New Big Brother." 

**Please read the AN from the Prologue if you haven't already.**

Enjoy and review. Thanks :)

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**You're Not Alone**

– – **Chapter One – –**

**Never to Return**

Dean twirled the spoon slowly through his soup. It had been sitting in front of him for the past ten minutes and he hadn't eaten a drop. Sam sat across from him, chewing slowly on his cheeseburger and French fries, and Dean noticed his brother staring at him as they sat in silence. Dean lifted his head to look at Sam, and Sam turned his gaze quickly back toward his burger and chewed faster. This had been going on ever since they'd gotten their food, and even before then, when Dean could feel Sam's eyes boring a hole into his head as he fiddled aimlessly with his silverware.

Finally, Dean sighed, dropping the spoon loudly into his bowl and taking a large swig of his water, the only thing Sam would let him drink.

"Sam, quit staring at me, okay? I told you, I'm fine," he said, putting his glass down harder than was necessary and sloshing water onto the table. He cursed quietly and proceeded to clean it up with his napkin.

Sam put his burger down and looked back at him again. "You haven't touched your food. Usually I have to remind you to actually _chew_ it. And come on, Dean…soup? You've never eaten soup in your life. I told you to get whatever you want."

"Yeah, and I wanted soup. What, is that a crime now?" Dean asked loudly.

Sam looked taken aback at Dean's tone. "No," he said quietly, turning his gaze back toward his burger, feeling slightly hurt. "I just…I don't know. You haven't been yourself lately." Sam raised his head back up to Dean. "I'm just…I'm worried about you," he admitted, his eyes not leaving his brother's.

"Don't be," Dean said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. He turned his gaze back to his soup, continuing to stir it aimlessly. "I'm fine."

"You keep saying that, Dean, but you're not. You haven't been eating recently-"

"Yeah, well, dying has a funny way of making a person lose their appetite."

Dean felt horrible the second the words left his mouth, and he kicked himself mentally. Why didn't he ever think before he talked?

He looked up at Sam slowly, and when he saw the hurt in his brother's eyes, Dean swore under his breath, wishing like hell that he could just take back the words. "Sam-"

"Suddenly I'm not hungry anymore, either. I'll be in the car," he said angrily, but Dean could still see that look of hurt. Sam stood up and yanked his coat off the bench. "Come out whenever you're done pretending to be _fine_."

And with that, Sam threw on his coat and stalked out of the diner. Dean watched his retreating back, and when the door closed behind him, Dean put his head in his hands and stared at the table.

Sometimes, he really hated himself.

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When Dean had paid for their food, he had left the diner and gone back to the car to find Sam staring silently out the window, lost in thought. Dean had kicked himself again as he slowly climbed into the car, wincing slightly as his chest jarred from the motion, but Sam hadn't noticed. When he was buckled in, Sam had started the car and continued driving. They had sat in silence for a long time, Sam's gaze never leaving the road. Dean had alternated between looking at the trees outside his window and at his brother sitting stony faced next to him. Finally, Dean had drifted off to sleep again, the lack of food and a feeling of self-loathing making him feel suddenly exhausted.

He had woken up an hour later from the same nightmare that had plagued him nearly every time he had gone to sleep for the past two weeks. He had jerked awake with a scream on his lips, panting slightly, the sound of his father telling him he could never love him ringing loudly in his ears. He had noticed Sam staring at him out of the corner of his eye, but when Dean had turned to him, Sam had turned his gaze back to the road, maintaining the awkward silence between them.

And now Dean was sitting back in his seat and staring out the window, watching the lack of scenery roll by outside, unwillingly reminiscing over his dream yet again.

"What could you possibly give this family? You're useless. We don't need you now and we never will. Your brother left you. He didn't care. He didn't really need you…I could never love you…Never love you…Never love you."

Dean was pulled out of his reverie when his brother suddenly broke the silence in the car.

"Dean."

"Yeah?" he asked quietly, turning to him.

"We're here," he said, his gaze never leaving the road.

Dean frowned and looked out the window, and he saw a small sign pass by:

**Chelsea township, Kansas; Population: 190.**

Dean closed his eyes and sighed softly. He hadn't realized they were so close.

"I'm gonna pull over and check the map," Sam said, and he was about to turn the car off the road when Dean stopped him.

"Turn right at the first intersection," he said, his voice and face devoid of emotion. He saw Sam gaze at him in confusion, and Dean closed his eyes again. He didn't understand why he remembered the way there so vividly, but he did. Everything about this place looked achingly familiar, and Dean suddenly wanted more than anything to turn around and leave and never come back here. Sam took the right, and Dean gazed out his window and tried hard to calm the feeling of sadness he felt that was suddenly threatening to drown him. As he gave Sam directions he didn't know he knew, he saw places he didn't know he remembered. Places he had visited with his mother, his father…his little baby brother.

Suddenly, he remembered things he never thought he could.

He remembered his mom buying a pretty red dress at that small clothing store on this corner, a dress some grandmotherly woman had sewn herself with her arthritic hands. His mother had fallen in love with it the minute she'd put it on, and when she'd come out of the dressing room, his father had twirled her around in a circle while she laughed happily, and Dean had smiled at how pretty and happy his mommy looked. She had asked him what he thought, and Dean had said she looked "beautiful," though it had come out sounding like "bootyful," and his mom had smiled and lifted him up, hugging him and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before setting him down and buying the dress.

He remembered eating lunch in the little diner on that street, spitting his soup out all over the table when his daddy had attempted to talk around a mouth full of fries. They had all laughed as his mom cleaned the spilt soup off of the table and Dean's chin.

He remembered watching a man make him an ice cream soda in that little ice cream shop that was made over in a 50's theme. He remembered giggling happily as he spun around on his red vinyl stool, making himself so dizzy that he would have fallen off if his daddy hadn't been there to catch him. His mother had looked up from her place at a table, where she was holding little baby Sammy close and feeding him his bottle, and she had asked him if he wanted to learn how to feed his brother. Dean had been afraid at first, but she had told him he would be fine, and he believed everything his mommy told him, so he held Sam and fed him his bottle, and he had smiled happily as Sam wrapped his tiny hands around Dean's fingers, sucking slowly on the bottle and looking up at Dean quietly.

Dean pulled himself out of his thoughts when Sam asked him which way to go, and he told him to turn left. This place held so many happy memories. But the memories didn't make him happy anymore like they should have. They made him feel empty…hollow. He regretted the fact that Sam didn't have any happy memories like this, and yet at the same time he envied him. Because Sam would never have to know just how happy they had been. He would never have to know the feeling of having a happy childhood yanked suddenly and harshly away from him in a night of fire and suffocating smoke and tears. Sam couldn't remember their mother, and as much as Dean loved his mom, or what he could remember of her, sometimes he wished he couldn't remember her, either.

Because then it wouldn't hurt so much.

And Dad…Dad….

Suddenly, Dean felt Sam's eyes on him again, and he turned to find Sam watching him quietly, stopped at a red light. Sam turned away when their eyes met, and Dean wanted to make amends for what he had said to him before, but he didn't know how. He said the only thing he could think of.

"I'm okay, Sammy," he said quietly, looking at his brother, and when Sam turned back to him, Dean gave him a small smile, trying to tell him without words how sorry he was.

Sam smiled back at him, and Dean knew that he understood. The light turned green and Sam turned back to the front, continuing to drive.

"Yeah, I know," Sam said, and Dean noticed the sadness in his voice. He would accept it, but he still knew it was a lie. Dean didn't know what to do for him, so they fell back into silence, Dean giving his brother occasional directions.

And finally, sooner than either of them would have liked, they saw the sign for Chelsea Cemetery, and they were driving under it and through the iron gates, and Dean felt his heart constrict at the though of what lay ahead.

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The two brothers stood in silence in front of their father's grave, neither really able to grasp the fact that their father's name was on a temporary plaque above freshly dug earth. That their father's body lay a mere six feet below them. That their father was really gone. Neither of them knew what to say, how to act, and so they just stood in silence and stared.

Dean pulled his jacket closer to his body, shivering slightly even though there was no wind and the sun was shining brightly. Too brightly. How dare the sun shine so bright when things were so screwed up? When their father was gone?

"Dean," Sam said quietly, and Dean turned to his brother and felt his heart break at the broken, lost look on his little brother's face.

"Yeah?" he asked, and he was surprised at how strong he could make his voice sound when everything hurt so much.

"I…do you think…Dad knew…how sorry I was? For…leaving him the way I did? Do you think he knew how much I…." Dean watched Sam struggle to say what he wanted to say, and he tried hard to remain strong for his brother. He saw a few tears escape Sam's closed eyes, and Dean fought his own emotions, maintaining his front.

"Do you think he knew how much I loved him?" he asked so quietly that Dean could barely hear him.

Dean felt his heart twist inside his chest at the note of despair and regret in Sam's voice, and he felt guilty for obsessing over his own feelings of doubt and sadness.

He remained strong for his brother.

"Of course he did, Sam," he said as vehemently as possible.

Sam turned to him. "How can you be sure?" he asked, his voice low and hoarse from the pain and the tears building up in him.

Sam turned his gaze back to the ground.

Dean didn't know how he knew. It was just one of those things you know to be true. So Dean did his best to explain it.

"You know, after you left, Dad was pretty upset. He stormed around the house for about a week. He didn't go on a single hunt. He just kind of…sat around, wallowing in his anger. He went out drinking a couple nights. Stumbled in one morning around 5 am and nearly woke up the neighbors throwing stuff around the living room. I didn't know what to do for him. I didn't really know what to do for myself."

Dean paused. He wasn't the issue right now. Sam was.

"One night he went out and he didn't come back. I waited up for him all night, called him a few times. I was worried sick. Finally he wandered into the house around eight in the morning, sober as could be, and he told me he knew it was his fault that you left. He never blamed you for leaving, Sam. He blamed himself. He felt bad about not giving you a chance to do what you wanted, for getting mad at you when you left. He never wanted to keep you from doing what you wanted, Sam. He just…he just wanted to keep you safe. Because he loved you."

Sam turned his head back up to Dean, and Dean watched as a few tears escaped his brother's eyes.

"He loved you, Sam. More than anything. He loved you."

Dean looked back at the ground, and his father's voice echoed in his head unwillingly.

I could never love you.

Dean heard Sam sigh next to him, and he looked back toward his brother, who was once again gazing at the ground.

Finally, Sam looked up and him and smiled softly.

"Thanks," he said, and Dean returned the smile before gazing back down at the ground.

"He loved you," Dean whispered, his heart clenching.

Dean could feel Sam watching him from the corner of his eye, and he did his best to ignore the penetrating stare. He knew Sam was waiting for him to say something, to confess something to him, to share with him how Dad's death was affecting him. But Dean couldn't talk about it. He couldn't tell Sam what was bothering him. That he wasn't sure his father had ever really needed him.

That he wasn't sure his father loved him.

Finally, Sam let it go, and he turned to look at the small white stone that served as their mother's memorial. He watched Sam sigh and reach out to gently run his hand along the top of it, and Dean looked away.

"I'll be in the car," Sam said quietly. "Whenever you're ready."

Dean nodded, and when Sam reached out a hand to pat him gently on the shoulder, Dean didn't protest. Sam smiled sadly at him and headed back toward the car.

When Dean heard the door of the car open and close back up on the road, he turned toward his mother's memorial, gazing at the inscription. _Loving mother and wife. _Dean copied what Sam had done moments before, running his hand slowly along the top, reading the words over and over to himself.

"I miss you, Mom," he said quietly. He let go and turned toward his father's grave. There was no tombstone. Just a simple plaque that said "John Winchester" and gave the years of his birth and death. Dean wrapped his arms around his chest in an unconscious attempt to keep out the world around him. He carefully avoided the spots that still ached from when the demon had tried to kill him back in the cabin, when his father…no, not his father – the demon, right? – had told him that he could never love him.

Dean felt tears rise in his eyes, and he wanted more than anything for his father to come back and tell him that he needed him; that he loved him; that he had always loved him and he always would.

"I love you, Dad."

And there was no answer.

There was no one around to hear him. No one around to see him.

And because there was no one around to see him, he let a few tears fall slowly down his cheeks before he reached up and swiped them away angrily. He let out a deep breath and pulled himself together. He needed to be strong. That's what his father had always told him. To be a good soldier, you had to be strong. Crying was a sign of weakness, and Dean wasn't weak.

He was just…alone.

Just a little bit broken.

Dean looked toward his mother's memorial and the place where his father's body lay once more, and then he turned his back on them and vowed never to return. He was glad he had come to say goodbye. But it hurt too much, more than Dean would ever admit to anyone. And in that moment, Dean decided that it would be easier if he tried to put them behind him, tried to forget about them.

No matter how much more alone it would make him feel.

As he opened the door to the car, looking at anything but the place he had vowed to never come back to, he realized that there was one more place he needed to go if he wanted to put the past behind him. So when Sam asked him if he wanted to head out and get the truck out of impound, Dean said that he wanted to make a stop first.

Sam pulled the car out of the cemetery, looking in the rearview mirror once more, where Dean knew he could probably just make out the place where their father's body lay buried and where the memory of their mother was put to rest.

Dean kept his eyes fixed ahead, and when Sam asked him where he wanted to go, Dean said:

"El Dorado State Park."

_**TBC...**_


	3. Shutting Out the World

**You're Not Alone**

– – **Chapter Two – –**

**Shutting Out the World**

Sam followed the directions that Dean gave him. Once again, Dean was surprised at how easy it was for him to remember how to get around this area. The last time he had been here was when he was ten, and he didn't realize that he had been paying enough attention back then to be able to find his way around now. The memories that had washed over him in Chelsea had been even older, and Dean couldn't help feeling that it was Fate's way of screwing him over. He never once thought that he could remember all those things because they had been so _happy_. All he could see them as now was painful, and remembering them was nothing short of a punishment. And now the thought of returning to the cabin that held even more happy memories for him scared him to death.

But Dean tried his best to ignore the emotions that were threatening to suffocate him, and he decided that this was for the best. The only way he could really put the past behind him was to face it.

Finally, Dean saw the sign for the park, and he marveled over how quick the ride had seemed. Suddenly, he remembered the feeling of driving up here with his mom and his dad and his little brother and thinking how the mere one hour drive had seemed to take days and dozens of 'Mommy, are we there yet?'s.

The daylong drive it had taken them to get here this time seemed instantaneous in comparison.

Sam stopped at the entrance booth, and when the ranger inside asked them where they were staying, Sam looked quizzically at Dean, and Dean told the man quietly that they were just there for a day visit. As it was nearing five o'clock already, the ranger seemed a bit surprised that they had come so late in the day, but he didn't question it. Sam paid the man the small entrance and parking fee, and the man handed them a map and showed them where all the best picnic spots were. Finally, he let them go with a small wave, telling them to enjoy their evening, and Sam thanked him and continued driving.

Dean turned to stare out the window again, watching the trees move slowly past him, and he sighed at the thought of what was coming.

Finally, Sam broke the awkward silence in the car.

"What are we doing here, Dean?" he asked, a hint of accusation in his voice.

Dean looked at Sam. "You don't remember this place?"

"No," Sam said, shaking his head. "You told me…." At this Sam paused, seemingly lost in thought, and Dean saw a look of pain flash through his eyes before quickly disappearing. "Back at the hospital," he continued, and Dean realized that Sam was remembering what had happened after the car crash. Dean turned back toward the window, as Sam continued talking.

"You said that I was here when I was six, but I don't really remember it."

Dean sighed. _You're lucky_, he thought to himself.

Silence descended on the car again, and when Sam reached an intersection, the silence was broken by one word: "Left."

Sam turned left and they continued down the road in silence. After awhile the trees became thinner, and Dean noticed a few cabins thrown here and there amongst the foliage.

Finally, a few minutes later, the lake came into view on their right, and Dean told Sam to turn right at the next fork. He did, and more cabins came into view hidden amongst the trees. The lake came closer, and as it did the trees grew more and more thin. Finally, they road reached another fork right at a small beach, and Dean told Sam to turn right.

They continued driving, and Dean saw the cabins right on the shore's edge, with just small patches of grass leading up to patches of sand that led right into the lake. Some of the cabins even had small docks attached to them.

"Dean…."

Sam turned to his brother, and he noticed a look of recognition on his face.

"Are we going to the cabin?" Sam asked, and Dean closed his eyes, fighting the emotions that the simple mention of the cabin dredged up.

"Yeah, Sam," he said quietly, and he turned his gaze toward his lap, wanting nothing more than to just melt into the floor.

Dean sat in the parked car and stared at cabin number 87. He stared at the trees surrounding it. He saw the now ancient tire swing attached to the biggest tree in the yard, and a memory played itself unbidden in his mind.

"_Push my higher, Mommy! Higher!"_

"_Not too high, Dean. I wouldn't want to you fall off."_

"_I won't fall. You won't let me fall, Mommy."_

"_Never."_

_Dean turned around his head around to look at his mother, and he smiled happily at the look of happiness on her face. He turned back around, and he saw their car stop in the driveway in front of the cabin._

"_Daddy's home!" he said happily, and without thinking he jumped off of the tire swing to the ground. But the ground was too far away, and his legs wouldn't hold him and he fell on the ground hard._

_His hand hit a rock, and he started to cry because it really hurt and there was something red coming out of his hand and it stung._

"_Oh sweetheart," he heard his mommy say. As Dean continued to cry, he felt his mommy pick him up, and he wrapped his arms around her neck and buried his head in her shoulder, crying loudly as she carried him slowly up the porch and into the cabin._

Dean blinked slowly as the image faded from his mind. He remembered that vividly now. She had taken him inside, poured antiseptic on the wound, and bandaged it up, whispering quietly to him as he continued to cry. Then she had wrapped him up in her arms and held him close until he stopped crying. He had looked at her and sniffled, and she'd asked how he was feeling. He'd told her it hurt, and she'd said, "I know, baby. Want me to kiss it and make it better?" He had sniffled again and nodded, holding out his hand. She had kissed it gently before kissing him on the cheek and the top of the head, and Dean remembered that somehow that had made the hurt go away, if only a little bit.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice broke him out of his reverie, and he turned to his brother. He had almost forgotten he was there.

"Do you want to get out?" Sam asked.

Dean looked back out the window, and he let out a deep breath before answering. "Yeah."

They both got out of the car, and Sam stood awkwardly by his door, waiting for Dean to make the first move. Finally, Dean walked slowly toward the front door. He passed a tree with a two small hearts carved into it. Dean could make out the initials carved lovingly into the bark inside one heart: JW + MS. There were four sets of initials in the second one: JW, MW, DW, and SW. And suddenly, he remembered sitting under that tree with his family.

_Dean was sitting out on a blanket with his mommy and his daddy and his little brother Sammy, and they were having a picnic. The food had long ago been eaten, and Dean was playing quietly with Sam. Sam had a small stuffed bear that he couldn't seem to hold on to. Every time he dropped it, Dean would pick it up and hold it close to Sam's face, rubbing his tiny nose into the bear's soft fur, and Sam would swat at it with his tiny hands and smile or clap or make a little gurgling noise that Dean always thought was his way of laughing._

_When Sam seemed to realize that if he kept dropping it Dean would keep tickling him with it, he dropped it more and more, and soon Sam was wiggling and gurgling so much that when Dean tried to give the bear back to him, Sam's flailing limbs knocked it out of his hands, and the bear hit the tree behind Dean and fell to the ground._

_  
Dean smiled and picked it up, and that was when he noticed something on the tree._

"_Mommy, what's that?" he asked._

_His mommy stopped looking at his daddy and turned to him, smiling when she noticed what he was pointing at._

"_Your daddy made that," she said, her eyes seeming to light up, and Dean turned his head back to the tree, tracing the heart and the letters inside it with his tiny fingers. "Six years ago, when we first met. We spent a whole summer in this cabin. See those two letters?" she asked, and she gripped his hand lightly and helped him trace his fingers over the J and the W. "Those are your daddy's initials. John Winchester." Then she moved his hand down and helped him trace his fingers over the other two letters. "And those are mine. Mary Smith."_

_Dean frowned. "But I thought your name was Winchester, too?" he said, stumbling slightly on the name he couldn't pronounce well. _

_She smiled at him. "It wasn't always. But then I met your father and I changed it. We all have the same last name now. Me, your dad, you and your brother. Do you know what that means?" she asked, and Dean shook his head slowly._

_She lifted him off the ground, put him in her lap, and wrapped her arms around him from behind, and she took his hand in hers and helped him trace around the heart that surrounded the letters; that helped bring them together and wrap them up in a safe little world all their own._

"_It means we're a family," she said quietly. She let go of his hand and kissed him on the top of the head. Dean continued to trace the little heart, smiling. "It means we'll always be together."_

"_Where's Sammy and me?" he asked quietly, gazing at the two sets of initials in the bark._

_His mother looked up at the tree and smiled._

_Dean then watched as his daddy took a knife out of his pocket and made a new heart. This one was a bit bigger than the other was, and he put in even more letters. When he was done, his daddy took him from his mommy and put him in his lap, and he had helped him trace out the letters just like his mother had. MW – Mommy. JW – Daddy. SW – little Sammy. And DW – him. As Dean traced the new heart, liking how all the letters were close together and protected in the gentle curve of the shape, Dean echoed his mother's words._

"_We're a family."_

"Dean?"

Once again, Sam pulled him out of his thoughts, and Dean frowned slightly when he realized that he had somehow found his way to the porch.

"Do you want to see if anyone's here?" Sam asked.

Dean stared at the door and realized that the last thing he wanted was to go inside this cabin and relive dozens of memories of the happy childhood that had been torn away from him. Memories of the happy childhood that Sam would never remember. Memories of when Dean felt safe and happy and loved, just like those letters must feel wrapped up in that little heart on the tree. Dean sighed and stared down at the ground, not wanting to go inside and realize what they could have had, what they had missed out on.

Not wanting to remember how it felt to have his mother hold him close and tell him everything was going to be okay and sing him softly back to sleep when he woke up from a bad dream.

Not wanting to remember his father lifting him up over his head and swinging him around in a wide circle.

Not wanting to remember rocking his six-year-old brother back to sleep when he woke up screaming in the middle of the night, complaining about fire and heat and smoke and being scared and lost in a house that was burning down over his head.

Dean didn't want to remember any memories this place had to offer him, sad or happy. He didn't want to remember any of it.

And suddenly, Dean realized that he couldn't do it. He wasn't strong enough for this.

Not anymore.

He shook his head slowly, not trusting himself to be able to speak.

"What do you want to do?" his brother asked him quietly, and he saw Sam reach out to touch his shoulder, but Dean moved away, and Sam put his arm down.

"I want to be alone," Dean said quietly.

He saw Sam watching him, and he could see that Sam was upset.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "Are you sure you don't want to…I don't know. Talk. About…about anything? Because I'm here, Dean-"

"Sam, just don't, all right. Please," Dean said. He wasn't angry. He wasn't sad. He just…wasn't anything.

Dean watched Sam's shoulder slump, his arms limp at his sides, and he watched a look he couldn't recognize pass over his brother's face. Confusion? Maybe. Normally Dean would blow up in Sam's face if he tried to get him to talk about anything. But Dean was beyond anger right now. All the anger he felt was locked up deep inside his heart now, locked away with his pain and sadness, and Dean had thrown away the key. He couldn't feel anything real anymore. He felt hollow and broken and alone in the world and he didn't know how to deal.

So he pushed Sam away.

"I just want to be alone," he repeated. He wrapped his arms around his chest carefully and walked slowly down the stairs and headed around the side of the cabin toward the backyard, wanting to be alone. He ignored Sam calling his name and walked toward the beach by the lake. He sat down on the sand where dozens of memories flooded over him. He saw Dad teaching him to play football; teaching him how to fish; building a campfire and toasting smores with him and his mother. He saw himself teaching Sam how to catch fish, laughing when his brother hit him in the face; chasing Sam up the beach before tackling him and tickling him until he begged for mercy. He saw himself and his brother and father Dean and Sam toasting marshmallows, stuffing their faces and throwing marshmallows at each other.

He saw himself sitting in this exact same spot at the age of ten. Dad and Sam were asleep, and it was dark, and Dean was alone. His eyes were welling up with tears at the thought that his mother was not there with them and she never would be again.

But even then he refused to let himself cry.

Three weeks ago had been a fluke. He had been dying, and Sam had wanted him to stay and he couldn't. Dean had wanted to be with his mother, but he wasn't ready to leave yet. He had opened up to Sam then, but he didn't think he could do it again. Opening up to people was too painful. It was easier to just keep it locked up deep where it belonged. Letting his pain lose on Sam would only hurt him in the long run, and he didn't want to do that.

So he kept it locked up inside, refusing to inflict his own pain on his brother. These memories were his to bear and his alone. They were his burden. Sam shouldn't have to deal with them, too.

So he shut himself off from the world.

From his brother.

Dean knew Sam only wanted to help him, but Sam didn't understand how much better off he was not knowing about their past. Sam couldn't know Dean's pain. Dean wouldn't let Sam suffer with him, because he deserved better than that.

So as the memories continued to wash over him, Dean silently let them. He didn't cry; didn't make a sound. He fought with his emotions, tried to push them away, tried to keep them away and hidden where they couldn't hurt anyone.

Where they couldn't hurt Sam like they were hurting him.

He stared at the sky. He watched the light blue turn to a pinkish orange. He watched it fade to a deep purple, then pass into a midnight blue. He watched the stars come out, bright in the dark sky.

Dean continued to stare at the sky, memories washing over him and tearing him apart. When Sam came over and told him it was getting late and cold and he knew Dean had to be hungry and that that they should head out and get some food and find some place to sleep, Dean got up quietly and headed back to the car alone. He turned back toward the cabin; took in the lake, and the beach, and the porch where his mother used to sit and watch over him silently; the tire swing; the two small hearts in the tree which only left him feeling sad now at the thought that that happy heart was cracked and the letters inside had burst out and scattered. Sam got in the driver's seat and closed his door, waiting quietly, and Dean took one last look at his past and shut it up in his heart along with all the pain and sadness and anger already crowding it up.

Then he climbed in the car, buckled up, and rested his head back against the seat. Dean closed his eyes and didn't look back at the cabin as they drove away, and Dean prayed that he would be able to forget that place and those memories, both happy and sad, and his parents.

Maybe if he forgot the past, he would be able to heal, and Sam would never have to know the things he knew.

Maybe if he forgot the past, he wouldn't feel so alone.

Maybe if he forgot the past, the simple task of breathing, of simply being _alive_, wouldn't hurt so damn much.

**_TBC..._**

* * *


	4. More Problems

**AN: **Sorry again for the wait, guys. Midterms suck the life out of me. :P Hopefully I'll have more time now that they are done. Thanks again to all who are reading and reviewing. :)

* * *

**You're Not Alone**

– – **Chapter Three – –**

**More Problems **

"_Sam and I don't need you. Your brother left you; left you alone to take care of me while he ran off to live the normal life. He didn't care what you thought, what you wanted. You asked him not to leave, you begged him. But he didn't care. He just left. He didn't really need you, and he never will. What could you possibly give this family? You're useless. Pathetic. A waste of space. We don't need you now and we never will. I could never love you."_

_Dean felt his heart tearing open in his chest, his precious lifeblood bleeding out into the rest of his body, soaking his lungs and filling his throat. He tried to scream, to yell, to cry, but nothing came out but a gurgled choke. He choked on his own blood, fighting against the darkness threatening to suffocate him. His father's voice echoed in his head as the pain got worse. He gasped for air and found only blood, and then he couldn't fight it anymore. He tried to scream one last time, tried to beg his father one last time to make the pain stop, but he couldn't. He gave himself up to the darkness, tasting nothing but blood, feeling nothing but pain, and seeing nothing but his father telling him that he could never love him.  
_  
_"Never love you, never love you, never-"_

Dean shot up in bed, a silent scream on his lips, and he clutched at his chest, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. He wouldn't have been surprised to find wounds there, slowly bleeding down his body. But when he looked down, panting heavily, he saw no telltale signs of red, and he didn't feel any moisture. All he felt was a series of long scars under his hand, and he could feel the blood pumping away quickly behind them. Dean let out a deep breath, trying hard to ignore the aching burn in his chest as he lifted his head, still panting harshly, to check his surroundings.

He took in the room around him: the table and chairs, the TV, the sink, the dresser, and the feeling of scratchy sheets under him. And eventually, he remembered where he was, and painful memories of the past 24 hours (had it really only been 24 hours?) came flooding back to him. Dean had exiled himself to the beach behind the cabin for a long time after the sun finally went down. Sam had come to him to tell him that he had fallen asleep in the car, and that he was worried because Dean had been out in the cold and the dark for so long, and that they should probably get some food and a good night's sleep because Dean had to be hungry and tired. Dean hadn't admitted it to him, but he was exhausted, the past day having taken far too much out of him.

Sam had driven them to a diner, where Dean had gotten yet another bowl of soup and only eaten a few bites.

Sam hadn't said a word to him about it.

In fact, Sam hadn't said a word to him all night since he had told Dean they should leave the cabin. All he had said was, "Do you want to find a hotel in the city?" and when Dean had nodded, that had been the end of it. Sam had found them a cheap motel in El Dorado, where they had checked in and Sam had headed off for a shower. Dean had changed into a T-shirt and boxers mindlessly, more out of habit than any desire to be comfortable, climbed into bed, and faced the wall. When Sam had come out of the shower, gotten dressed, and sat on his own bed, Dean could feel Sam staring at his back, and Dean knew his brother desperately wanted to talk to him.

But Dean didn't want to talk. About anything.

Ever.

So he had continued to face the wall until, finally, Sam had climbed under his covers and faced his own wall. Five minutes later, Sam had fallen asleep without so much as a "Goodnight," and Dean had stayed awake for almost an hour, staring aimlessly at the wall across from him, trying, and failing, to not dwell on anything. Dad's death, the past...the look on Sam's face when Dean just couldn't talk to him. He had fallen asleep with that look of despair, loss, and sadness burned into his eyes.

And now, as Dean turned toward his brother's bed, he found himself greeted by the same sight. Sam was sitting up in his bed, staring silently at Dean, who was still breathing heavily and clutching his chest. Dean watched Sam stare at him silently, imploringly, begging him to just for the love of God open up and tell him what was bothering him and why he couldn't sleep and how  
Dad's death was affecting him.

Dean stared at that look in his brother's eyes, wanting so desperately to make that hurt look disappear.

But he couldn't.

Dean sighed and let go of his chest, ignoring the gentle throb, and he lay back down, facing the wall, and said, "Go back to sleep, Sam."

Dean was glad he wasn't facing his brother, because he was pretty sure that if he had to see the look of hurt that was undoubtedly gracing his brother's face, he'd fall apart.

More so than he already had.

He closed his eyes, trying not to imagine the look on Sam's face, ignoring his brother staring daggers into his back.

Finally, he heard the bed creak and Sam shuffle off to the bathroom.

Dean sighed and closed his eyes. He felt bad for doing this to Sam, but Dean just couldn't open up to him. He couldn't let Sam see how vulnerable he was; how messed up.

How broken.

Dean had to be the strong one for Sammy. He was the big brother. It was his job.

It was what Dad would have wanted.

Dean sighed as images of his father telling him he could never love him rose unbidden to his mind. He fought hard to get a handle on the millions of emotions churning through him at once.

"_Sam and I don't need you. What could you possibly give this family? You're useless. Pathetic. I could never love you."_

Dean flinched as his father's words washed over him for the millionth time. This time, he hadn't just heard his father's voice in his head. His father had said it right out loud to him. And now Dean couldn't remember that his father had been possessed when he'd said that. All he could think was that his father had _really_ said that to him, and that he had meant it. Dean was too far gone, too confused, had repressed too much, and now he was confusing his dreams with reality. He couldn't tell the difference anymore.

Dad had meant what he said. Sam didn't need him. Sam had a normal life, college, and friends that he wanted to go back to. Sam didn't need Dean to hold him back. And Dad…Dean had done everything for his father. He had given him everything he'd ever had.

But it wasn't enough. His father didn't love him before he died, and now that he was dead, he never would.

Dean gasped softly as the realization hit him hard. He held his arms closer to his chest and pulled his legs up, trying fruitlessly to protect himself from the realization that nobody needed him or loved him. He fought back the tears he could feel rising in his eyes. Tears were a sign of weakness. Tears-

"Dean?"

Dean yanked himself from his internal battle, flinching slightly at the sudden intrusion.

Sammy…

Dean could feel him standing over him, looking down at him, but he couldn't see his face. Dean tried hard not to look up at Sam. He didn't want to see the false concern in his eyes. He didn't know what to do. Even if Sam didn't need him, Dean still needed his brother. He would never admit it to him, but Dean needed Sam more than anything right now.

Loved him more than anything.

And because Dean knew that Sam didn't need him, because Dean felt too messed up inside, he continued to push Sam away.

Dean pulled the covers further up his body and turned his head down to face the mattress, turning his back on his brother, the one person who, unbeknownst to Dean, wanted more than anything to help him. Who needed him more right now than he ever had.

"Dean, please-"

"Don't, Sam. Go back to sleep. I'm okay," Dean said in a quiet monotone.

Dean continued to stare a hole in the bedspread, praying that Sam would just give up and leave him alone.

Finally, Sam turned away and walked back to his bed in silence. Dean heard Sam lay down and pull the covers over himself. He listened to Sam breathing a few feet away from him, and he continued to stare at the mattress, trying to count the horrid flowers in the dark; trying hard to ignore the thoughts and memories and emotions tidal waving through his mind and heart, threatening to crush him. He didn't want to fall asleep. He didn't want to go back into that horrible nightmare; didn't want to relive that horrible night.

But Dean didn't think that being awake was any better.

So he continued to listen to Sam's breathing. He listened for what felt like forever. He listened until Sam's breathing finally slowed down and eventually settled into the gentle, even breath of sleep.

Eventually, Dean began to feel the inevitable pull of sleep yet again, just as the sun was beginning to peek through the curtains. He heard Sam shift on the other bed and heard his breathing increase as he woke up, but Dean couldn't fight it anymore, and he let the sleep take him.

He thought he heard Sam sniffle once before he fell asleep, but he figured he probably just imagined it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean stared hard into his glass of water, wishing fiercely that it were coffee. Or beer. Or whiskey. Something that could chase away the pain and make him numb. He took a small sip and put it down, turning toward the plate of pancakes Sam had insisted on getting him. Usually, Dean loved pancakes. He could eat more of them than even Sam's bottomless pit of a stomach could handle. Dean loved pancakes and Sam knew it.

But Dean had only eaten a few bites of his pancakes since he had gotten them ten minutes ago. He knew he should feel hungry, but he just wasn't. He looked up to find Sam halfway done with his own breakfast, and Dean looked quickly back down at his pancakes when Sam raised his eyes to meet Dean's own. Dean picked up his fork, intending to eat some, to do anything to get Sam to stop glaring at him like he wanted to force the food down his throat and burst out crying all at the same time. Dean took a few small bites before putting down his fork. Suddenly, the silence at the table became deafening, and all Dean wanted to do was get away.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he said quietly. He got out of his chair and prepared to walk away.

"Sit," Sam growled. Dean looked down in surprise to find Sam glaring at him with the most deadly look Dean could ever remember seeing on his brother's face. Dean was so taken aback at the fierce tone that he instantly obeyed, mouth slightly agape.

"Sam, what-"

"I know you may not feel hungry," Sam said, and Dean could practically feel Sam's anger flowing at him from across the table. "But you need to eat something."

"Sam-"

"I'm serious, Dean. I'm not letting you leave this table until you've eaten something."

Dean stared at Sam like he had two heads. Sam rarely ordered him around. Sure, he voiced his opinion whenever he got the chance, but his tone and words had never been so forceful. Suddenly, Dean felt angry.

"Who the hell do you think you are? Dad?"

Dean saw the flash of pain behind Sam's eyes and he ignored it.

"No, I'm your brother," he said, and Dean noticed Sam's voice and face soften a bit. "I'm trying to help you."

"Yeah? Well I don't need your help," Dean said, standing up and taking a step away from the table.

"Dean." Sam practically growled his name again, and Dean felt Sam wrap his hand tightly around his wrist.

"Let go of me, Sam," he said, glaring daggers at his brother.

"No," Sam replied angrily, gripping Dean's wrist tighter. Without warning, Dean felt a small surge of…something…travel up his arm from his wrist. He flinched at the sudden feeling and looked at Sam, trying hard to mask the fear he felt at what had just happened. Sam had told him about the odd behavior he had exhibited around the paramedics when they were trying to revive him. But there was no way Sam could be that angry with him.

Was there?

Dean saw Sam's eyes go slightly wide in reaction to Dean's flinching and look of fear, and Sam let him go as quickly as if he himself had been the one to be shocked. He rubbed softly at the offending hand with his other, and Dean could only stand watching in fascination. Was Sam really that upset with him?

"I'm sorry," Sam said quietly, gazing at his hand as though he wanted nothing more than for it to chop it off.

"It's okay," Dean said out of habit.

Suddenly, Dean _really_ wanted to get away.

This time, as he headed for the bathroom, Sam didn't try to stop him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean came out ten minutes later slightly calmer and with the resolution in his mind to at least eat some of his food. If it would get Sam off his back, get rid of some of the anger and resentment Dean knew his brother was harboring toward him, he would do it.

He arrived back at their table and was surprised to find Sam at the bar talking to two strangers. Dean frowned and sat down at their table. Sam never talked to strangers. What was he up to?

Dean picked up his fork and began to slowly eat his pancakes, but his eyes never left Sam.

Five minutes later, Dean had eaten as much as he could stomach of his food, which turned out to be about half of the stack of pancakes and a good deal of the bacon. He was sipping slowly at his water when Sam walked back over to him and sat down. Dean didn't miss the small smile that flashed quickly over Sam's face as he surveyed Dean's half eaten meal, but the smile was quickly replaced by a look that Dean knew all to well. It was a mixture of intrigue, confusion, and thoughtfulness.

It was the look Sam got every time they found out about a new hunt.

Only this time, Dean could see a look of fear and sadness in his eyes as well. Dean put down his water and looked at Sam, frowning slightly.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Sam looked back toward the men, who were talking quickly and animatedly to each other, and then back at Dean, sighing softly.

"Something happened at Chelsea Cemetery."

Dean felt his recently eaten pancakes rise up in his throat.

"What…when…"

"Sometime last night. Someone's grave was dug up. The coffin was broken open. Someone…someone's body was…mutilated, and…"

Dean fought hard not to throw up. This couldn't be happening. They had just buried their father…

"Dad? Sam, is it-"

"I don't know," Sam said softly, and Dean noticed Sam's eyes fill with tears.

"We have to go, Dean."

Dean put his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. This was unreal. Everything. The past month, the past few weeks, yesterday, this morning…none of it could be happening.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean asked, knowing what his brother was going to say.

"We have to check this out. We have to go back there."

Dean closed his eyes, fighting to keep his food down and the anger, pain, and sadness at bay. He had sworn to himself he would never go back there. He was going to put Dad, Mom, and his entire past behind him. He was going to move on. And now Sam wanted him to go back there?

"Sam, I…."

"We have to," Sam said, and Dean looked up at his brother and felt his heart flutter in his chest when he saw the tears in Sam's eyes.

"Dean-"

"Ok, Sammy," Dean said so quietly he wasn't sure Sam would hear him.

But he did.

"Now?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean replied.

Sam nodded silently and flagged down their waitress. Dean told Sam he would be right back, and he walked quickly toward the bathroom, where he flung himself into a stall and threw up everything he had just eaten into the toilet. He knelt on the ground, his body shaking slightly as he heaved until there was nothing left.

Five minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom to find Sam waiting by their table. Sam looked at him questioningly, and Dean knew that he must still look pale. He had tried his best to cover up what had just happened, but nothing could hide the gentle shaking that had taken over his body.

"Dean, are you-"

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean said dismissively. "Let's go."

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On the painfully short ride back to Chelsea Cemetery, Sam told Dean what the men had told him. Someone had gone to visit the cemetery in the early morning hours to stumble across a freshly dug pile of dirt. Whoever it was had approached cautiously and found a coffin lying broken open in a freshly dug hole. The person who had discovered it hadn't caught the name on the tombstone above the grave, having been too shocked by the "horribly mutilated body" they had found inside. Sam hadn't found out any details about the condition of the body. They didn't know whose body it was or even if anything supernatural had desecrated it. Dean could think of a thousand supernatural things that could have dug up a body, and none of them were pretty. He would have to see it to know for sure.

As Sam continued to drive faster than was legal, Dean quietly berated his own stupidity. He knew why he hadn't burned Dad's body like his father had always told him to; why he had disobeyed his father's wishes. He just couldn't believe he was gone. He could not accept that his father would never talk to him again. Never go hunting with him again. Never yell at him again, order him around again, or tell him to watch out for Sammy again. Dean just couldn't accept it. Burning Dad's body seemed too final, and as much as the part of Dean that was a hunter demanded that he burn his father's body, as much as the part of him that was a good soldier commanded that he follow his father's orders, the part of Dean that was a son – a scared, heartbroken little boy – just couldn't do it. So he had buried his father's body in a coffin in the ground. Sam had been surprised to hear that Dean had had it buried, but he had never questioned it.

Until now.

"Dean, why didn't you burn Dad's body? I thought that was one of our unwritten family rules. Dad always said-"

"I don't give a shit what Dad always said," Dean answered harshly. He really did not want to justify his actions to Sam. Not now, not ever.

"But Dean-"

"Just drop it, Sam, okay? I wasn't thinking straight. Dad was dead, I almost died, and you suddenly developed a bunch of creepy new psychic abilities. I wasn't thinking straight."

Dean turned from Sam to gaze out the window at the swiftly passing scenery.

Finally, Sam sighed loudly and kept his gaze on the road. Neither of them said another word until Sam had pulled the car off to the side of the road outside the cemetery. Police cars were blocking the entrance, where a small crowd of people had gathered to try and see what was going on inside.

Sam reached over Dean to pull Dean's box of badges out of the glovebox. He came back with two federal marshal's badges, much like the ones they had used when Dean had pulled Sam out of Stanford a year ago. He handed one to Dean, took one for himself, and put the box back.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Dean? I can go by myself if you don't want to. You don't have to-"

"I'll go, Sam." As much as Dean had vowed to himself to never come back here, it was more important that he know his father's body was still intact. That he know the memory of his father was still resting peacefully beneath the earth.

That he know no evil bastard of a person or supernatural being had dared to mess with his father when he and his brother were still grieving their lose.

"Okay," Sam replied. "You ready?"

Dean didn't trust himself to speak, so instead he nodded and got quietly out of the car. He stood by his door, gazing at the police cars blocking the entrance.

Before Sam exited the car, Dean clearly heard his brother say, "Please, God. Don't let it be Dad."

_**TBC...**_


	5. Living Nightmares

Happy Halloween to you all! Consider this your treat. ;) I wasn't planning on putting this out on Halloween, but since I finished it yesterday and edited it today, it just worked out perfectly.

**Just a brief WARNING: This chapter contains a few gory descriptions; though I don't think they are any worse than some of the things we see on the more violent episodes, I thought I would mention it just to be on the safe side. **

Enjoy:)

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**You're Not Alone**

– – **Chapter Four – –**

**Living Nightmares**

Dean walked slowly next to his brother, his heart pounding quickly in his chest. He stared at the ground, watching his feet, afraid to look up. Dad's grave was visible from the entrance, and if he looked up…. Dean could just imagine himself looking up to find his father's grave surrounded by police tape, a crowd of onlookers standing near it and shaking their heads sadly at the tragedy; a tragedy that none of them would ever really feel. Not like he and Sam would.

So he kept his eyes firmly planted on the ground as the entrance came into view and they moved closer toward the small crowd of people and the two police officers outside.

"Dean?"

Dean turned his head toward his brother, still refusing to look into the cemetery.

"It's okay. Look." And Sam pointed into the cemetery toward where Dean knew their father's grave was. He let his eyes follow Sam's hand, and he felt a great weight lift off his shoulders at the sight of his father's grave, free from the telltale yellow tape. But he felt a great portion of that weight return as he spotted a grave farther off in the distance where a lone man in uniform was standing outside a square of yellow police tape. The tape fluttered slowly in the gentle breeze, and he immediately felt guilty. If it wasn't Dad, it was someone else, and some other family would now be going through the same thing he had been afraid he and Sam would have to go through. He felt guilty for wishing his pain on someone else, but he didn't have much time to dwell on it, as they had reached the small crowd near the gate.

Sam approached the police officers, pulling his badge out of his pocket, and Dean did the same. He was grateful when Sam started the talking, because he wasn't entirely sure he could form words even if he'd wanted to.

"I'm Agent Tam, this is Agent Reynolds." At this, Sam quickly flashed his badge at the two officers standing by their car, and Dean did the same. "What can you tell us about the events that took place last night?"

Dean waited with bated breath, hoping the officers would accept their identities. The two officers looked at each other suspiciously, but finally one of them – Officer Beckett according to his badge – turned to Sam and spoke.

"We got the call at 6:49 this morning. A man by the name of Daniel Holden came at sunrise to visit his mother's grave. Before he got there, he spotted a large pile of dirt on the ground next to it. He went over to see what it was, and he found his mother's coffin open, his mother's…body…exposed, and that's when he called us. Her name was Violet Holden. She was buried here a week ago."

Officer Beckett went on to describe the condition of the site. The dirt was lying next to the grave haphazardly. It looked more like it had been dug by a wild animal than a person with a shovel. The coffin was a mystery. There were no broken locks. It looked as though something had clawed at the lid from the outside and torn the wood away. Bits of wood were scattered inside the hole and on the body, as though something had torn its way inside and pulled the lid apart piece by piece. The body…Dean watched Officer Beckett's face turn pale. Beckett had not seen the body, but he told them how it had been described to him. They were calling it a wild animal attack, because there was no way a human could have done the damage that had been caused to "that poor woman's body." Beckett described it as best he could, and from the few details he was able to glean, Dean knew this was not done by a human.

"It was probably wild dogs or something," Beckett said, and Dean looked slowly at his brother, who had already turned to look at him. Apparently, they were both thinking the same thing.

This was something _much_ worse than wild dogs.

"Where's the body now?" Sam asked.

"They haven't moved it yet. We're still waiting for a forensics team to arrive. Sheriff Michaels is there looking it over. You can talk to him."

"Thank you," Sam said, flashing the man a small smile.

Beckett nodded in response, and Dean moved to follow Sam into the cemetery. As they were leaving, Dean heard the other officer say, "Man, you know dogs can't tear solid wood apart like that." Dean continued to follow Sam as he heard Beckett say, "I know. But what else could it be?"

Dean shuddered as he thought of all the numerous things that could have torn open a thick wooden coffin, mutilated the body of a poor, innocent woman, and devastated everyone the woman had left behind.

Dean didn't like any of the options, and he hugged his arms close to his chest. As they approached the grave, his mind drifted off the man who had found his mother's body, and he felt guilty as he thought-

"Thank God it's not Dad."

Dean looked toward Sam when he spoke. How did Sam always know what he was thinking?

"Yeah. Thank God," Dean replied quietly, and he knew he didn't sound convincing. He turned his gaze toward the ground, but not in time to miss the look of confusion Sam sent his way. Of course he was grateful that it wasn't their father. But that didn't make him feel any better. As they approached Violet Holden's disturbed grave and the horrors he knew lay within, all he could think about was Daniel Holden. What it must have felt like for him to come here and find his own mother's body desecrated mere days after he had buried it.

It must have been like living through her death all over again.

Suddenly, Dean wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave this place. He didn't want to see this woman's body. He didn't want even the faintest hint at what Daniel Holden was going through. For once in his life, Dean wanted to be selfish and say "Screw everyone else, I can't deal with this now."

But Dean Winchester was anything but selfish. So he drew up what little courage he had left and continued on toward Violet's grave, Sam walking steadily beside him.

As they approached the line of yellow tape surrounding the grave, the man who Dean assumed was Sheriff Michaels approached them.

"You can't be here, this area is-"

"We're Federal Marshals. I'm Agent Tam, this is Agent Reynolds." Sam showed his badge again, and Dean did the same. Sheriff Michaels sighed in what was unmistakably relief.

"You guys got here pretty fast, thank God. We weren't sure what to make of this." He gestured toward the area. All they could see from where they were was a large pile of dirt beside a large hole, but Dean knew it was so much more than that. Sam started toward it. Dean hesitated before following his brother. He had to see this. As much as he didn't want to, he had to. Whatever this was, he had to stop it from happening again. One Daniel Holden was too much.

Sam reached the grave first, and Dean saw him look down inside. Dean's worst nightmares began to play themselves out in his head when Sam flinched harshly, taking a step backward and turning away, his hand reaching up to cover his mouth as he let out a low moan of, "Oh my god."

Dean continued to approach, but slower this time, as Sam stood facing away, his hand still over his mouth, and Dean could see his brother shaking slightly. Finally, he reached the hole and peered down into it, his heart in his throat.

If he hadn't already thrown up his breakfast, he would have done it then and there. It was the most horrible sight he had ever seen in his life, and he had seen more than his fair share of horrible sights. The woman's body, if you could even call it that anymore, was barely distinguishable as a woman, much less a person. Her clothing hung in tatters over what was left of her body, which was no more than a giant mass of scattered bones covered in a few stray pieces of what used to be healthy skin. It looked like something had torn into her, consuming her flesh right off of her bones, tearing them apart in the process. Her bones were not even attached to each other anymore. Something had torn into her like a Thanksgiving turkey and picked her clean.

Dean fought down the bile rising in his throat and he turned away, unable to look anymore. Officer Beckett had been right about the coffin. Pieces of wood littered the hole around the coffin and the remains themselves, as though something had clawed at the lid and torn it apart bit by bit, plank by plank, wanting nothing more than to get inside as quickly and easily as possible so that it could claim its prize. Dean turned to Sam, who had moved far away from the grave and was pacing frantically, muttering under his breath, his hand still covering his mouth. Dean had never seen Sam react like this to something, and it scared the hell out of him.

"Agent Tam," Dean said as forcefully as he could manage. Unfortunately, he couldn't keep a slight shaking out of his voice anymore than he could stop the slight shaking that had taken over his body.

Sam turned to him, and Dean felt his heart break at the look of fear in Sam's eyes. He could practically feel Sam begging him to make it all right, and Dean tried his hardest to convey with just his eyes that it was going to be okay.

But he couldn't even convince himself of that fact, and so he stared uselessly at Sam, wishing more than anything that he had simply told Sam to stay away. The image of the woman's mutilated body was burned into his mind, and Dean knew it was a sight he would never forget.

Neither of them said anything to each other. Dean continued to look at Sam, at a loss, and finally Sheriff Michaels broke the silence. "That's pretty much the reaction everyone has had."

Dean continued to watch Sam, who had turned away from him to stare in the opposite direction.

"We've seen enough," Dean said, and he meant it. He had seen enough; _more_ than enough. He started toward his brother, his back toward Sheriff Michaels as he said, "We'll let you know if we come up with anything."

The sheriff might have replied, "Sure," but Dean wasn't really paying attention. He took Sam's arm, the one not covering his mouth, gently in his hand and led him quickly away from the grave.

They headed toward the car in silence, never looking back at the cemetery. They didn't say a word as Dean pulled Sam away. They didn't say a word as they walked past the two officers near the entrance. They didn't say a word until Dean pulled Sam toward the passenger side of the car, fully intending to drive Sam away from this horrible place.

Sam was the first to break the silence.

"I'm driving," he said, and he pulled his arm out of Dean's and headed back toward the driver's side. Dean didn't argue with his brother, and he climbed inside the van, barely having time to buckle himself in before Sam tore the car back onto the road and drove quickly away from Chelsea Cemetery.

Dean pushed aside the roiling in his stomach, the ache in his chest. He turned to look at Sam. The fear and pain he had seen in Sam's eyes before was now gone. It had been replaced by a look of anger and a determination that was so scary that Dean would have felt slightly bad for the thing that had done this if he himself hadn't been just as determined to hunt this son of a bitch down and kill it in the most excruciatingly painful way he could think of.

Dean turned to stare out the window as Sam drove, trying to drive the image of the woman's body from his head.

Finally, Sam pulled into a space outside their hotel, tires squealing slightly as he brought the giant teal monster to a screeching halt. Sam got quickly out of the car, slamming the door behind him as he headed over to Dean's side. He opened Dean's door and Dean unbuckled himself, and Sam had a hand on his arm before he could even try to get out by himself. Sam helped him out, being surprisingly gentle considering how angry Dean knew he was. As Sam led him by the arm inside their room, Dean was scared to find that he could feel Sam's anger coursing through him. It was like a quick, harsh power racing under Sam's skin. It wasn't directed at him, and he could tell because he couldn't feel it racing into him like it had last time. But that didn't make him feel any less scared. It was a mark of how scared he was at Sam's behavior that he let Sam lead him, his hand gently holding him and pulling him inside.

Sam led him to a bed and gently drew him down so he was sitting on it.

"Don't you dare go anywhere," Sam told him bitingly, his anger belied by how gently he had just led him into the room.

Dean didn't even think to argue as Sam left the room, closing the door loudly behind him.

Dean stared at the bedspread and worried over how strangely Sam was acting. Sam had seemed so upset at first, so close to tears, and now he was so angry that Dean could actually feel the anger coursing through him from just a gentle touch on his arm.

Dean continued to stare at the blanket, wanting nothing more than to crawl under it and never have to face the world again.

Finally, the door opened and Sam burst in, a bulging duffel bag and a few books in his arms. He closed the door behind him and dropped the bag and books on the other bed, and Dean could see all manner of weapons poking out of the bag. He turned to his brother, who was currently plugging in his laptop.

"Sam, what-"

"I'm going after this thing. Tonight."

"Sam, we don't even know what it is yet."

"That's why I'm looking it up," Sam replied, not even looking at him as he walked back over to the bed and pulled their father's journal out of the pile of books. "As soon as the sun sets, I'm going," he said, sitting at the table in front of his laptop and flipping their father's journal open.

And that's when it hit him.

"What do you mean, '_I'm_ going'?"

"I mean exactly what I said, Dean," Sam said, still not looking at him as he flipped pages. "I'm going. Alone."

And Dean knew he had been wrong about wanting to crawl under the covers and never leave. Sam may not love him like Dean wanted him to, but Dean still loved his brother, and there was no way in hell he was letting Sam do this alone.

"You mean _we're _going," he said.

Sam stopped flipping through the journal. Finally, Sam looked up at him. "You aren't coming with me," he said. "You still need to rest. I'm doing this one on my own." Sam turned back toward the journal.

And suddenly, Dean was angry. He wasn't tired, or sad, or lonely, or simply bitter.

He was pissed off.

"Like hell you are," he said harshly, and Sam's head jerked up as he looked at him. Dean knew he hadn't spoken so angrily to Sam since before the car crash, and the new yet familiar tone must have struck a chord in Sam because he looked surprised.

But he didn't falter. "I am. You're still healing, Dean. You don't need to be jumping back into this stuff so soon."

But Dean wasn't going to take this lying down. He stood up slowly from the bed, stretching himself up to his full height, trying to convey as much force and formidability as his six foot-one inch-one hundred seventy five pound frame would allow. "I'm going with you, Sam. Whether you want me to or not. If you go, I go." His tone brooked no argument. It was his big brother voice, the voice that said, "I may be shorter than you and smaller than you, but I changed your diapers, and I taught you how to walk, how to read, how to pick up girls, and how to fight the monsters in the closet." It was the voice that clearly said his word was the final word whenever Dad's word wasn't involved, and it had always worked on Sam before.

Dean stared his brother down.

Finally, he saw Sam's shoulders slump, and he could almost feel the anger ebbing away from him slowly.

"Fine," Sam said through gritted teeth. He closed the journal and threw it at Dean a bit harder than was necessary. Dean caught it and sat back down on the bed.

"We should try and get an idea of what this is before we go back tonight," Sam said, and Dean could hear the defeat in his voice.

Dean smiled to himself. His big brother voice always worked on Sammy.

Little did Dean know that the next time he used it would be the first time that it wouldn't work.

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The two brothers did research throughout the afternoon, stopping only once when Sam went out and brought back some food, which Dean reluctantly ate even though he didn't feel hungry.

They continued working through the afternoon, finding numerous things that it could be, but knowing that it could be any of them.

Finally, around 9pm, they gave up. Sam loaded the duffel bag into the van, stuffing a few more weapons in that he thought might be useful. Dean made sure to bring the books and Dad's journal.

They drove to Chelsea Cemetery and parked the van a good distance away, hiding it in the trees as they waited for the group of officers and forensic investigators to leave.

Finally, around 12am, the last of the officials gathered near the grave left. Dean followed Sam out of the car, Sam toting the duffel and Dean carrying Dad's journal. They slowly wandered around the cemetery. Neither of them mentioned splitting up. Dean didn't want to let Sam wander alone, and Dean didn't know it, but Sam didn't want Dean to wander alone, either. They circled the cemetery dozens of times, waiting for whatever it was to show up.

Neither of them had any idea what they would do when it did, and neither of them brought that up.

Finally, around 4am, they sat down on the edge of the cemetery, under the trees that surrounded it on three sides, to rest.

And then Sam had a vision.

Dean put his hands on Sam's shoulders as Sam moaned in pain, clutching at his head and panting.

When it stopped, Sam looked up at him in horror, and before Dean could stop him, Sam bolted into the cemetery, somehow knowing exactly where he was going.

Dean stood up and followed him as best as he could. They reached the farthest corner of the cemetery in a couple of minutes, and Sam stopped so abruptly that Dean practically ran into him.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

Dean could do nothing but stare in horror at the creature that sat in the broken coffin on top of the body of a young boy, no more than five years old. Apparently the creature had only just started to feast, as the boy's body was intact aside from the ragged hole that had been torn in his chest where his heart should have been and where there was now only an empty hole.

Dean could do nothing but stare in horror as the creature looked up at them, and he got a real glimpse of the thing in the light of the flashlight that was shaking slightly in Sam's hand.

It was a girl. A young girl, no more than seven years old, but she didn't look young or innocent or sweet like she should have. She looked like a slowly decomposing corpse. Her fingers had grown into long claws, and her eyes were glowing bright red as she growled at them.

Dean could do nothing but stare in horror as she leapt from the hole in one supernatural bound, landing in front of them, continuing to growl, flesh dripping from her long, red stained teeth.

Dean could do nothing but stare in horror as the girl turned back toward the hole, and he thought she would jump back in and continue, but instead she stopped growling. She turned back toward them, and they both caught the look of fright, pain, disgust, horror, and…childlike innocence in her eyes. For just one second, she looked like a frightened seven-year-old girl, and it chilled Dean to the bone.

But in an instant it was gone, and she growled at them again before tearing off into the night, disappearing quickly into the forest surrounding the cemetery.

And then Dean could do nothing but stare in horror at the little boy's body, at the place where his heart should have been, at the carnage that had been wrought on the little boy's memory, that would later be wrought on his already grief stricken mother, by a creature that was no older than him.

Dean turned away from the grave and fell to his knees, vomiting the contents of his stomach over the ground. He threw up what felt like everything he had ever eaten, and when he felt a hand gently rubbing his back in small circles, he realized that Sam was behind him. He didn't force him away like he normally would have.

He just didn't have the strength anymore.

He continued to heave until there was nothing left. When he was finished, he stayed where he was, panting heavily, trying to get a handle on his breathing and his emotions.

Sam didn't leave his side, and he didn't stop trying to comfort him, rubbing soothing circles into his back.

Dean wondered vaguely at Sam's actions, but he pushed his thoughts aside. That didn't matter now. All that mattered was that he knew what this was. He had seen this before. It had been a much older man, in his mid-forties, and it had made sense. But this girl…she was too young. She was way too young for something like this to have happened to her. There had to be something else at work here.

The Demon. The Demon was powerful enough to do this, and it would explain why Sam had had a vision. The Demon must have done something to that little girl. The Demon must have-

"Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked him quietly. His hand had stopped moving as Dean's breathing had slowed to normal, but his hand was still resting gently on his back.

Dean closed his eyes and sighed deeply, gathering up the courage to look his brother in the face.

Finally, he raised his head and looked at Sam, ignoring the undoubtedly false concern in his eyes.

"I know what this is."

**_TBC…_**

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**AN:** I just realized how fitting this chapter is for Halloween, lol. The story's picking up a bit finally, and I hope you're all enjoying it. Leave me some nice ones! I have to work tonight so I'll consider any reviews to be my Halloween treat. Reviews are better than candy any day – they don't ruin your diet. :P 

Oh, and free candy to whoever catches the reference behind Sam and Dean's Federal Marshal aliases. ;)


	6. What Sam Needs

**AN:** Consider this a Thanksgiving gift. I'm ashamed that it took so long, and I'll explain myself in the AN after the chapter. Just read it first. I think/hope you'll find this one worth the wait.

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**You're Not Alone**

– – **Chapter Five – –**

**What Sam Needs**

"What did you say?"

"I said I know what this is, Sammy. But it…it doesn't make sense. She's so…so young…."

Dean trailed off, getting lost in thought about how someone so young could have met such a fate. That girl couldn't have been older than seven. There was no way she could have become what she had. And that look she had given him before she ran off. She had looked horrified, scared, lost, and sad. How could such an innocent girl-

"Dean?"

Sam pulled him out of his thoughts, and he turned to meet his brother's gaze. He could see confusion and…something else there. Worry? But there was no way it was worry.

Dean looked away.

"Come on," Sam said quietly. He moved the hand that was still on his back, put both of his hands under Dean's arm, and pulled gently. "Let's get away from here."

Suddenly, Dean became aware of the fact that he had just vomited the contents of his stomach on the grass, and his stomach churned at the sight and smell. He put his hand to his mouth, and Sam paused in his efforts to help him up, kneeling down next to him and placing a hand on his back again.

As Dean struggled with the images that were taking over his mind (_that innocent little boy, torn to shreds, his chest gaping open, heart gone; that little girl, flesh and blood dripping from her teeth, anger, hatred, and fear in her eyes_) he tried to calm the nausea and shaking that had taken over his body. Sam had once again taken to stroking his back in small circles, his other hand gripping his arm tightly, but Dean didn't notice. He was too lost in his thoughts. He fought for control over his emotions and his body.

Finally, his stomach stopped clenching and the nausea went away. His breathing eventually slowed to normal and the gentle shaking dissipated. His head continued to swim with thoughts, but at least he had managed to get a hold on himself.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

Dean had forgotten he was there. It was like the world around him had faded away, lost in a haze. He had been sucked away into another world.

"Dean?"

Dean came to himself enough to nod, unable to make his mouth work. Sam's grip tightened further on his arm, but he didn't really notice.

"Come on," Sam said again, and he put his hands under Dean's arm and pulled him off the ground slowly. Dean stood and let Sam lead him away from the hole in the ground and the horrors that lay within it. Sam put his hand on Dean's back again, his other hand remaining on his arm to guide him toward the trees on the graveyard's edge.

If Dean could have focused, he would have noticed Sam deliberately place himself between Dean and the open grave, shielding it from his sight. If Dean could have focused, he would have felt the gentle, caring way in which Sam led him away from the boy's grave. If Dean could have focused, he would have noticed the way Sam's hands gently shook as he helped him toward the trees. If Dean could have focused, he would have realized that he never let Sam touch him or help him like this.

If he could have focused, maybe Dean would have recognized the fear and concern in his brother's eyes. Maybe he would have realized that Sam was scared to death by the way his older brother, always the strong one, was acting.

But he couldn't focus. Not anymore. It was all too much to take in. Dad's death, the nightmares, thinking his family neither loved nor needed him, the little boy, the innocent girl who had become a monster…. It was all too much.

So he didn't fight Sam, didn't tell him he was fine and he could walk perfectly well thank you very much. He let Sam lead him away from the grave, numb to the world around him.

Finally, they reached the edge of the graveyard, and Dean allowed Sam to help him to the ground. He sat down, leaning back against the tree behind him when Sam pushed him gently toward it. Sam sat down next to him, his hands leaving his back, but Dean hardly noticed.

"Dean?"

_That poor boy. What would his family go through when they found out about what had happened to him?_

"Dean?"

_That boy had died too young in the first place. How could his family possibly deal with burying him again?_

"Dean!"

_That girl was too young, too. Too young to have become what she had. If that son of a bitch demon had anything to do with this…_

"Dean! Talk to me. Say something. Anything! Call me a jerk; tell me to leave you alone, to get lost. Something. Hit me, I don't care. Just do something!"

_Dad. What if that had been Dad? What if-_

"Dean!"

Suddenly the haze around Dean's mind began to lift, and he felt himself coming to. He realized he was still in the cemetery, leaning against a tree, and that the sky had lightened considerably, a faint light rising in the East.

And suddenly he realized that Sam's hand was on his shoulder, and he could feel a faint power coursing through his body, starting from that point of contact. He couldn't place what was behind the power at first. But finally, as the fog lifted further, he realized he could feel a great sense of fear in the energy coursing into him.

It was coming from Sam.

"Dean, please. Let me know you're still here."

And as Dean began to feel sadness pour into him, he felt the fog shatter, and he flinched at the feeling of intense energy that wasn't his own pouring into him. He pulled himself quickly out from under Sam's hand, and as the contact broke he immediately felt better. The energy lingered slightly, but he could no longer place the emotions behind it. He began to wonder if he had really felt them at all. He had probably just imagined them. Figments of his own emotions left over from getting lost in his own thoughts.

"Dean, are you alright?" Sam asked, and when Sam reached out a hand to touch him, Dean pulled away slightly. Sam got the hint and he let his hand drop to his side.

"Of course I'm okay, Sammy. Why shouldn't I be?" he asked.

Sam gave Dean an incredulous look – his patented 'what the hell is your problem?' look – and Dean looked away.

"Dean, you just completely blanked out-"

"It's a jikininki, Sam."

"You…what…a jikiwhatie?

"A jikininki," Dean repeated, glad that Sam had gone with the change of subject. "It means 'man-eating ghost.' They're from Japanese Buddhist mythology."

"What are they?"

"They're spirits. People who are really greedy and selfish in their lives are cursed after their deaths to devour human…corpses. I guess they're so selfish in life that their greed haunts them after death. They have to feed every few days or they go insane with their hunger. They hate that they need it so much, but they can't help their need for it. They always hunt at night, and they prefer…fresher…corpses."

"How do you get rid of them?"

"There's a special incantation you say to trap them. While they're immobile, you say this prayer and they're gone. It's really easy to get rid of them if you can say the incantation before they escape. People used to think that anyone who made eye contact with one would be frozen in fear, but Dad and I found out that was a load of crap. They're actually more scared of living bodies than we are of them."

"You've seen one before?"

Dean nodded. "Back when I was…thirteen, I guess…Dad took me out to hunt one. He said it had ravaged nearly a dozen corpses in Missouri before he was able to track it down. He brought me out with him. Said he wanted me to be the one to do it. I'd killed stuff before, but I'd never done a ritual like this. Anyway, we got to the cemetery. Didn't take us long to find it. I said the incantation before it could get away. And then I got rid of it. It was a man, mid forties, early fifties I think. Before he…before he went…wherever he went…he looked at me and smiled. He looked…it was like he was trying to say…that he was sorry."

Dean gazed down at the ground, lost in thought of that night long ago.

Sam was the one to finally break the silence. "Where do they…where do they go after you…after you say the prayer?"

Dean looked up, but he didn't look at Sam. "Dad told me that they go wherever they would have gone before they became what they did. But I don't think…I don't really know if he knew himself. I think maybe he was just saying that to…to make me feel better. The way it happened…the screaming…the darkness…it didn't feel like he was going anywhere good. I can't know for sure, but it…I feel like…I feel like I sent him to Hell."

Dean fell silent, trying hard not to think about the young girl who had become this monster. This monster that he'd have to get rid of. This innocent girl that he might have to-

"It made sense back then, Sam. These things…they're born out of intense greed and selfishness. The kind of stuff that makes people kill. But this girl…she's so…."

"Young," Sam finished for him.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Kids that age…they don't really get that way. I mean, sure, they might not want to share their toys, but they don't usually…kill for things."

"How did this girl become one, then?" Sam asked. "You don't think-"

"Yeah, Sam, I do," Dean replied. Sam didn't even need to say it; Dean knew what he meant. He had been thinking the same thing.

"The Demon," Sam said quietly.

"Yeah," Dean replied, his gaze dropping to the ground.

"You think the Demon somehow turned this girl into one of these…things?"

"Maybe. I don't know for sure. But it makes sense, doesn't it? I mean, what are the odds that we'd find one of these things in the same place we just buried-"

"Dad," Sam said suddenly, raising his head to look at Dean. "Dean, Dad was buried here a week ago. And if this thing goes after fresh…bodies…then that means…. The Demon has to be behind this, Dean. It knew we buried Dad here, so it took an innocent girl and turned her into this monster and sent her here. To get to us. Son of a bitch!"

Dean looked up in surprise at the curse that came out of Sam's mouth. Sam hardly ever cursed.

"We have to do something, Dean. She's scared, we saw it. She knows what she's doing and she can't stop herself. We can't…we can't let this happen, Dean. We have to do something," Sam said, and Dean caught the look of determination in his eyes.

"Sam…what if…what if I'm right? What if this…what if this ritual sends her to Hell? I mean we can't just…she's an innocent girl, Sam. We can't send her to Hell."

"We don't know if they go to Hell though, right? I mean…some people…some people stick around to help others, right? And when their spirits leave Earth…they can't all go to Hell, Dean. The good ones can't just go to Hell, can they?"

Dean wanted to agree with Sam, but he knew that even Sam wasn't sure about what he was saying. It all sounded nice, didn't it? But the world was a cruel place, and life just wasn't fair. There was no reason that the good people had to end up anywhere but in Hell.

"Sam…."

"You saw the look on her face, Dean. You saw how scared she was, how upset she was over what she was doing. We can't just let her exist like this. Not if there's a chance we can save her. Send her somewhere…happier. And besides, we can't let her keep doing this."

Dean sighed and closed his eyes, wishing that because he couldn't see the world it didn't exist.

"Dean, we have to do this. Not for the people who are gone, but…for the people they left behind."

Dean sighed again before turning his gaze to Sam. "I know we do, Sammy. It's just that…I don't know what will happen to her."

"I know. But what other choice do we have? We can't just let her keep doing this. We can't. For all we know, she could…it could go after…."

Sam trailed off, and Dean knew he was afraid to say the same thing they were both thinking.

It could go after their father.

And right now, Dean honestly didn't think he could live with that. He couldn't bury his father again. He couldn't let Sam bury their father again. He wouldn't. He'd be damned if he let his brother live through their father's death again. Dean still loved his brother, even if he didn't think Sam loved him.

"The incantation and prayer are in Dad's journal. We'll have to come back tomorrow night," Dean said, looking off to the East where the sun was slowly peeking over the horizon.

Sam followed his gaze and nodded. "Yeah, I guess we will," he said quietly, and Dean frowned at the sudden change in Sam's demeanor. The anger and determination had vanished, and suddenly Sam seemed pensive and sad as he gazed down at the ground.

"What is it?" Dean asked quietly.

Sam lifted his head and looked at him. "Nothing," he said unconvincingly, turning his eyes back toward the ground.

Dean sat quietly for a minute. Sam wasn't usually the one to let things go unsaid. If he wanted to talk about it, he would, and there was nothing Dean could do to stop him even if he wanted to.

Finally, Sam sighed and turned to him. "We should get going," he said, standing up and brushing himself off. "We should try and get some sleep before tonight."

Dean nodded and prepared to stand up. Sam took a step toward him, but Dean put a hand up to stop him, and Sam backed off. Dean stood up slowly, surprised to find himself steadier on his feet than he had been in a long time. The usual grating in his sore chest had subsided to a dull pain. As they walked slowly back toward the car, Sam standing closely next to him as though he were afraid he would fall down at any second, Dean pondered why he felt physically better than he had in awhile.

As he clambered back into the van, getting up into his seat without Sam's help, Dean decided that he probably had too much else on his mind right now. Little things like sore chests were insignificant. Innocent girls turned into vicious creatures, bodies of loved ones mutilated, the prospect of finding their father's body desecrated…stuff like that mattered.

This time, Dean didn't fight the images that began to run through his head. As Sam drove them back toward the hotel, Dean gazed out the window and prayed that getting rid of this jikininki would be as easy as getting rid of the one 14 years ago.

Unfortunately, he just knew it wouldn't be.

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When they arrived back at the hotel, Dean pulled out their father's journal, leafing through the pages until he found the one that contained the incantation and the prayer. He read the words over in his head, bits and pieces of it coming back to him. It was so simple really. Just a few words and a few lines and the spirit was sent packing. But the idea that he didn't know where the spirit would be sent to was all Dean could think about.

After a few minutes, Sam told him they should try and get some sleep. Dean wasn't sure he could sleep even if he wanted to, but he didn't protest the simple suggestion. He knew it would get Sam off his back if he at least tried. He got dressed and crawled into bed, Sam doing the same across from him. He placed the journal on the nightstand between them, the page carefully marked. He rolled over and faced the wall. He could feel Sam's eyes boring a hole into his back, and Dean tried hard to ignore him.

Finally, he heard Sam's breathing even out, and he knew his brother had fallen asleep. He lay awake for a few more hours, staring at the wall and trying hard not to think about what the night would bring. He knew he would be the one to do this, to say the words. There was no way he was letting Sam do this himself. Hell, if he didn't know that Sam would yell until his throat was sore, he would refuse to let him go at all. This was an easy job. It wasn't something Sam needed to be with him for. Dean could do the job and come back easily; he could promise that.

What he couldn't promise was that he'd handle it well. The thought that he might be sending this young, innocent girl to Hell was too much for him to even imagine, let alone have to go through. It would be a burden – a burden he would have to live with for the rest of his life.

But it was a burden he would gladly bear for his brother.

Dean stared at the wall, trying hard to stave off a sleep that he knew would be fraught with nightmares. Eventually though, his body caved, and he fell into a fitful sleep, visions of a young girl screaming in pain and crying and begging him to save her haunting his dreams.

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Dean jerked awake, panting slightly. Noises echoed in his head: screams, sobs, and a young girl asking him why he had sent her away to that horrible place where everything hurt all the time and there was no one to help her. He closed his eyes, willing the voice to go away.

Eventually, it stopped, and Dean opened his eyes and gazed around the room. He was sitting up in bed – he must have jerked himself upright when he woke up – and the room was brightly lit, streams of light filtering around the curtains over the window. He realized the sun would be setting soon.

The next thing he noticed, when he tried to move, was that he couldn't. He pulled on his hands, and he was shocked to find that he couldn't move them. They were anchored to the headboard behind him.

Someone had tied him to the bed.

Dean cursed and pulled on the ropes binding him. They were tied tight.

He wasn't going anywhere.

He cursed again and leaned back against the headboard, gazing around the room.

Finally, his eyes landed on Sam. He was sitting at the table, his arms crossed over his chest, Dad's journal on the table in front of him, his eyes firmly locked on him.

Dean was struck speechless for a moment. But it didn't last.

"Sam, what the hell is going on here? Untie me."

"You're not coming with me, Dean."

"What?" Dean asked incredulously.

"I said you're not coming with me. I'm doing this one myself, Dean, and you can't stop me."

"Sam…you're talking crazy. Let me out of here. How did you even get me tied up in the first place?"

Dean saw a flash of pain pass over Sam's eyes before fading. "Your dreams, Dean. It's so hard to…it's hard to wake you up from them sometimes. I tried to… to wake you up, but when I realized that you couldn't hear me, I decided…I realized that this was the solution I was looking for. I know how you think, Dean, and I knew you would never let me do this even if I begged you. I knew that nothing short of tying you up was going to keep you from doing this ritual tonight. So I…I decided I'd have to do that."

"Sam-"

"I wanted to wake you up, Dean. Believe me I did. And I tried. So hard. But you just…you just couldn't hear me, and I…this is for the best, Dean. I can't let you do this ritual tonight. I won't."

Dean was going to say something, but he didn't know what to say. He'd never seen Sam like this before. His voice was trembling as he spoke, and Dean could see tears welling up in his eyes.

"Sam-"

"You're messed up, Dean. You're messed up something terrible, and I can't stand seeing you like this. It's just…it's too much. I don't expect you to be the strong one all the time; I never have. But I'm…I'm scared for you, Dean. I've never seen you like this before. I've never seen you lose it. Ever since these nightmares started…you've been shutting me out. Even more than usual. No matter what I did you wouldn't open up to me or even speak to me. And last night…last night was the last straw. Do you have any idea how long I yelled at you last night? How long I told you to say something, to do something? How long I begged you to give me some sign that you were still around? That you weren't…."

Sam turned his gaze away, and Dean watched in fascination as a few tears poured out of Sam's eyes. Sam wasn't crying for him. There was just no way.

"For so long, Dean. I tried for so long to get you to react to me. But it was like you were somewhere else, somewhere I…I couldn't reach you. But I didn't stop, and thank God you finally came around, but you just pushed me away again, like nothing had happened. Like I hadn't just spent half an hour begging you to just turn your head and look at me. You scared the hell out of me last night, Dean. It's like…you were gone…and for the longest time I couldn't get you back. I'm not gonna let it happen again. I'm not going to let you do this ritual tonight, Dean. I don't think…I don't think you can handle it. I'm just afraid…I'm afraid it'll kill you."

Dean stared at Sam as he lapsed into silence, tears drying on his face. Sam couldn't possibly be afraid for him. Sam didn't love him enough for that.

"Sam…."

Dean didn't know what to say. He was at a complete loss. So he didn't say anything.

Which was precisely what Sam _didn't_ want.

"Say something to me, Dean. Don't shut me out like you always do. I don't care if you yell at me. If you want to hit me I'll gladly come over there and let you take a few swings. Just don't shut me out. Please."

Dean sighed, gazing down at his lap. He couldn't let Sam do this. Dean didn't care what happened to himself. All he cared about was Sam, and he didn't want his brother to have to deal with this. For Sam, dealing with what happened to Dean if he sent the girl to Hell had to be easier than dealing with it himself. Especially considering…

"Sam, you don't have to do this."

"Don't have to do what?" Sam asked, standing up and taking a step toward him.

"Pretend that you care." Dean said it quietly, so quietly he could barely hear himself say it.

But apparently Sam heard him.

"What are you talking about?" he asked quietly, but Dean could feel the slight anger hidden behind the question.

"I know the truth, Sam. I know that…Dad told me, Sam. He told me how you…."

"What, Dean? How I what?"

"How you don't need me the way I need you. How you don't…how you and he…how you couldn't possibly love me. But I understand, Sam. I understand-"

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Sam shouted, and when the lights in the room started to flicker on and off and the bed began to shake slightly underneath him, Dean regretted ever opening his mouth. But he just couldn't stop himself.

"Dad told me, Sam. He told me that-"

"Where the hell would you get a stupid idea like that from?!" Sam asked loudly, and Dean cringed at the wave of anger he felt wash over him suddenly.

"Sam-"

"I swear to God you can be so thick sometimes, Dean."

Dean flinched and looked down at the bed, which was still shaking, though the lights had stopped flickering.

"When did this happen, Dean? When did Dad _tell you_ this?" Sam asked, spitting the words out.

"Back in the cabin," Dean answered, unable to stop himself. "Dad said it to my face. He said that-"

"Did he really say it to you, Dean, or was it just his voice in your head?"

"I…he…." Suddenly, Dean just wasn't sure anymore.

"I didn't see him say anything to you, Dean."

"He…." Dean paused, trying hard to ignore the gentle shaking of the bed under him.

"Think hard, Dean. Try."

Dean closed his eyes and thought back to that night in the cabin. Memories flooded over him. Memories of his father staring him in the face, grinning as he cried out in pain. Memories of begging his father to save him, only to have his pleas fall on deaf ears. Memories of his father telling him that he and Sam didn't need him. That they didn't love him. That they never could. He began to fall into thoughts of that night, and suddenly everything was running together. One minute his father was saying it to his face, his lips moving and the words coming out; the next his father was gazing at him, mouth unmoving, the words floating through Dean's mind. He couldn't tell them apart anymore. He couldn't tell what had really happened.

Suddenly, he felt a warm pressure on his shoulder, and he heard a voice in his ear. "Dean, I'm here. Don't listen to anything Dad's saying. It wasn't really Dad, Dean. Dad was possessed by the Demon. The Demon said those things to you. Whatever sounded like Dad it wasn't him."

Dean could feel himself breathing heavily, clutching at his head as his mind swam with too many images too fast and it was all too much.

"Dean!"

Sam's voice penetrated his mind.

"Dean, come back to me. Please. Don't let it get to you. Don't let this son of a bitch drive you crazy. None of what Dad said that night was real. None of it. How many times has Dad told you not to listen to demons? How many times have we gone over the drill? 'Don't listen to anything a demon tells you, because demons lie.' It wasn't really him, Dean. It wasn't him."

Suddenly, images of the night in the cabin were replaced by his father's voice. Dean couldn't see him, but he knew his voice anywhere, and he knew his father had said these things to him.

_Demons lie, son…_

_Demons know just what to say to really get to you, to really mess with your head. You have to just tune them out. Don't ever listen to anything a demon tells you, Dean…_

_People who are possessed can't control what they say, Dean. The demon takes over their body and talks to you in their voice, but that person is gone, locked away deep inside their body, powerless to stop what the demon uses their body to say and do. Don't ever trust a person who's possessed. Even if it's me…_

"Dad," Dean heard himself say.

_I love you, Dean. Don't you ever forget that… _

"Dad…."

_You keep us together, Dean. Whenever we fall apart, you're right there to help put us back together. We need you just as much as you need us. Maybe even more. I love you son, and I always will…_

_I love you, Dean._

Dean knew that voice, too.

"Sam?"

Dean heard Sam's voice again. He could feel Sam's hands on his shoulders, and he could feel energy flowing into him again. But this time he could place it. He knew what this feeling was. It was the same thing he felt whenever he looked at Sam.

Love.

_Don't listen to what that thing tells you, Dean. I love you. I need you. Here, with me. Please. Don't listen to it. Don't let it destroy you. I can't lose you, too. I won't do this alone. I can't._

And finally, Dean understood. He saw the events in the cabin play out the way that they really had. His father hadn't said that stuff to him out loud. Dean had heard the words in his head, in his father's voice, but his father hadn't meant a word of it. His father had been the one to stop the Demon from killing him completely. His father had let Sam go, giving him the chance to rescue him. His father had been the one to beg the Demon to stop.

The nightmares he'd been having…they weren't real. His father hadn't said any of that to him. The Demon had. The same son of a bitch who had killed their mother, had killed the woman Sam had wanted to spend the rest of his life with, had helped kill their father, and had almost killed him. The Demon had said all of that.

His father loved him. He'd told him before. Not often, but enough. And he hadn't had to say it, either. Simple gestures had been enough. Suddenly, Dean knew his father had loved him, and he felt stupid for ever thinking differently.

And that meant that-

"Sammy."

Dean jerked his eyes open, and the world came rushing back to him as he forced all the unwanted images out of his head. He saw Sam looking at him intently, his eyes lit up with tears, a few stray ones on his face. He felt Sam's hands on his shoulders, felt a comforting energy coursing into him, and he realized that Sam had untied him. He looked at Sam, and suddenly he realized how stupid he had been.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, unable to keep the tremble out of his voice.

He felt Sam's hands loosen slightly on his shoulders, and the words came pouring out of him.

"I've been so stupid, Sam. I just…I've been so upset about Dad. And these nightmares I started having…they screwed with my head. I couldn't…I couldn't tell what was real anymore. I let that son of a bitch get the best of me. I shouldn't have listened to it, and I should have known better. I just…I was so upset about Dad, I couldn't help it. I couldn't control it. I let it tell me lies and I believed them. I know how you feel, Sam. I think…I think I've always known. I just…I just forgot, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry I put you through this. I'm sorry I shut you out. I'm sorry-"

Dean felt Sam squeeze his shoulders tightly. "It's okay, Dean. It's okay. Just calm down."

Dean realized he was hyperventilating, and he tried his best to calm himself down. Eventually, he was able to slow his racing heart and gain control over his breathing. When he did, he realized that Sam was shaking slightly.

"Are you okay, Sam?" he asked.

Sam smiled at him. "I am if you are."

Dean smiled back at him, and suddenly he realized something.

"Sam, I think that was more chick flick moment than a man like me can deal with in a lifetime."

Sam laughed, and Dean had to admit, even to himself, that, as cheesy as it was, hearing Sam laugh was one of his favorite sounds.

"Yeah, I guess it was," he said, and he let go of Dean's shoulders and sat up in front of him.

Suddenly, Sam pitched forward, and Dean caught him just before he ended up in his lap.

"Sammy? Are you okay? What's wrong?" he asked, fear in his voice.

"I…I'm fine," Sam replied lifting his head up to look at Dean, who had a firm grip on his shoulders. "I'm just…that really wore me out."

"What...oh. Was it like…that night in the hospital when you…when you brought me back?"

Sam smirked. "You remember that now, huh?"

"Of course I do, Sam. Haven't you been paying attention?" he asked, rolling his eyes jokingly. Sam smiled and tried to sit up before falling forward again, and Dean steadied him.

"Come on, Sammy. Lie down." He pushed Sam gently backward, and Sam pulled himself up, lying sideways on the bed. Dean stayed where he was at the head of the bed, sitting cross-legged and staring at Sam in concern.

"It was like that night, yeah. You seemed to be…lost in thought, I guess. Like you were last night. So I tried to…I just…I really wanted to prove to you that I…that I needed you, so I…I guess I just kind of did."

"Those memories. Those memories of Dad. Did you…did you give those to me, too?"

"What memories of Dad?"

"Those memories…you…you didn't…."

"I didn't…send you any memories of Dad."

"Then…." Dean drifted off. Had he remembered them by himself?

"Dean?"

"I guess…I guess what you did allowed me to remember them on my own. What you did…it let me straighten things out in my head. You helped me…put myself back together. You saved me."

And Sam smiled at him.

"Again."

Dean smiled back.

"Yeah. Again."

They sat in silence for awhile before Sam spoke.

"The sun's going to set soon, Dean."

Dean turned toward the window and realized that Sam was right. That meant that they had to get to the cemetery soon.

"Dean-"

"Let me do this, Sam. Let me be the one to do this."

Sam sat up, and Dean was more upset than he should have been to find that Sam seemed perfectly able to sit up now. If he'd been weaker, he could have forced Sam to stay behind. Now…

"I thought you understood now, Dean. I can't let you do this."

"Sam, I'm better now. Really. I told you, I believe you now. I know that you…that you care. It's just that-"

"You're right. I do care. And that's why I can't let you do this. You can't always do everything for me. Sometimes you have to let me do things. Sometimes you have to let me be the big brother. You have to let me bear the burden."

"I can't, Sam. Not this time. I'd rather take this on myself than let you deal with it."

"So would I," Sam said quietly.

Dean didn't know how to respond to that, so he didn't say anything.

"Let me do this for you, Dean. Just this once. Let me be the big brother. Let me help you. Please. I don't…I can't watch you take on something else for me. You've done it all your life, and I can't watch you do it anymore. Please. Just this once. Let me help you."

Dean closed his eyes, fighting hard against the emotions flowing through him. What kind of older brother would he be if he let Sam do this? If he let Sam bear this burden?

But then his thoughts drifted off to what had just happened between them – the ultimate chick flick moment that Dean needed to swear Sam to secrecy to on penalty of painful death sometime after this was over. He remembered all that Sam had said to him and shown him.

And suddenly, he realized that, if he let Sam do this, he would be an _awesome_ big brother. He realized that, if he wanted to be the big brother, that meant that, every once in awhile, he needed to let his little brother do what he wanted to do; what he _needed_ to do. And if that meant letting Sam be the big brother just this once – if that meant giving Sam what he wanted more than anything right now – then he would gladly do it.

"Okay," he said quietly, gazing down at the bedspread, purposefully avoiding looking at Sam.

He didn't have to see his brother to know what look Sam was giving him right now. He knew it was the same look he had given him when he'd told Sam that if he really wanted Dean to help teach him to ride a bike he would. He knew it was the same look he had given him when he'd told Sam that if he really wanted Dean to help teach him how to defend himself against bullies he would. He knew it was the same look he had given him when he'd told Sam that if he really wanted to go to Stanford, he wouldn't stand in his way.

Finally, Sam spoke. "Do you mean it, Dean?"

Dean sighed long and loud, and he looked at Sam, finding the look he knew he would receive.

"Yeah, Sammy. I mean it. I'll let you do it, but I'm going with you. That's not negotiable."

Sam didn't protest, but he smiled at him, and Dean felt a bit better about letting him do this.

"Thank you," he said quietly, and Dean could have sworn he felt Sam's gratitude from across the bed.

They sat in silence for a minute or two, both lost in thought, before Sam finally spoke.

"We should get ready to go. We want to get there before the sun sets. The sooner we do this the better."

Sam got off the bed and headed for the bathroom.

But not before Dean stopped him.

"I don't have to like this, Sam."

"What?" Sam asked, turning toward him.

"I don't have to like this. Just because I'm letting you do this does not mean that I have to like it."

Sam smiled at him. "I would never expect you to," he said seriously.

"Sam…I don't want you to…if this goes bad…."

"Dean, I promise you that no matter what happens, I will never regret this decision. Ever. If I do this, and the girl goes to Hell, I'll never regret it. Because I'm doing it for you. Just like you would do it for me. Sometimes the best way to be a big brother is to let others have the job when they really want it. I could never regret this. Ever. I promise."

Dean sighed, wondering to himself how it was that Sam always knew what he was thinking and how to make it better.

"Okay, Sammy."

"Okay?" Sam asked, seeking confirmation.

"Okay," Dean replied. As Sam smiled at him and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, Dean felt better about the decision he had made. He would not renig on this deal. He would give Sam what he needed, because as much as Dean would rather have taken this burden on himself, he realized that what Sam needed more than anything was a chance to do the same.

And Dean had never been very good at denying his brother what he really needed.

_**TBC…**_

* * *

**AN2:** Like I said, I'm sorry this took so long. I'm sure you all understand about RL being a bitch sometimes. I also needed this to be perfect, as I'm sure you can understand since it was pretty pivotal. It did end up extra long, so hopefully that helps a bit. 

As for the Jikininki, I didn't make it up, I swear, I don't think I could ever make up a name like that and not laugh hysterically. You can Google it if you want. I got my information off of Wikipedia in case you're interested. There's not much there, and obviously I had to take some liberties to make it fit, but since on the show our boys always find some things concerning myths to be different or untrue, I figure what I did works just fine.

Anyway, apologies again. Happy Thanksgiving! And don't forget to drop me a line because I appreciate everything you guys have to say. Cheers. :)


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